“Pastor Kincaid, this is Rex, our… the consultant who helping the SSU with the Wolf Grove case.” Aaron tripped through the introductions. “Rex, Pastor Christopher Kincaid. He manages the entire New York state branch of our church.”
“Welcome to our Church, Rex.” Christopher’s smile broadened alarmingly as he held out a hand to shake, and that banished the associative hallucination. He smiled differently to Vassily, and I was able to catalog the differences in a rush of reality. Christopher was younger, his face was harder and more pointed, his nose less hooked, mouth smaller. His hair was short, wavy and thick, but brown instead of true black. He was dressed in a modest, crisp blue-checkered shirt and cream slacks, and that was different, too. Vassily dressed for Wall Street, not for church.
We shook hands, and he glanced at my gloves for a split second, and then the cat. “And who is this?”
“Binah,” I replied tightly. I cleared my throat, trying to loosen it up. “She’s my familiar.”
Christopher reached out to her. Binah backed away with a hiss, circling around my neck to put my head between her and the priest. He laughed and dropped his hand. “She certainly is.”
“She’s been like that for a while now,” I said. “Doesn’t seem to want anyone else to touch her.”
“Animals are what they are. Thank you, Aaron. We’ll catch up before the midday service?”
“Yes, of course.” Aaron glanced at me, perhaps wondering if it was safe to leave his mentor and a Spook together in the same room, but at a wave from Christopher, he withdrew.
“Take a seat.” Christopher gestured to one of the red leather chairs. They were on an angle to one another, the classic counsellor’s arrangement. “As I understand it, you’re here to talk about Lily and Dru Ross? I’ve already given my statement to the police.”
“I’m a consultant, not a cop. I’m here to get a sense of why Wolf Grove might have been targeted by someone with considerable Christian Occult knowledge,” I took the chair. Binah left my shoulder to crouch on the back of it, her tail lashing against my head. Her discomfort was my discomfort, but there was no weird smell here, no dead plants. “In addition, I’d like to learn more about the Church and what you – and Lily and Dru – practice in the Church.”
“‘Christian Occult’ knowledge? What do you mean by that?” He inclined his head to one side, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. I’d learned these postures and positions in college as well. More evidence of his counselor training.
“The murder scene and a number of the activities that took place during the murder relate to medieval clerical magic,” I replied. “But as an experienced magician, I don’t really buy the Satanic abuse angle that the Vigiles Magicarum is currently tracking.”
“As an experienced priest, I can assure you that ritual abuse is a very real problem in this city, and in every city and town in America.” His voice was very light, even melodic. The priest blinked rapidly, and then looked down as he twitched his jaw to one side. “But anyway… Lily Ross – Powell, back then – was Confirmed in the Church long before her husband. Now, you must understand that we don’t just give Baptisms away in the Church of the Voice. Have you ever watched Father Zach preach?”
“I’ve never owned a TV,” I replied. “So no.”
“The heart of his gospel is that we are the ones who chose to fall from grace, and so we must earn God’s love.” Christopher sat back up, and gestured to his own heart. “Jesus died for us, but that doesn’t mean we can sit on our behinds and do nothing. He believes that God wants us to take action in our own lives, to improve our selves and become the best we can be. When we work with people, we don’t just want to redeem them – we want them to save themselves, to save other people, and not just by hitting them over the head with the Bible. We teach that the way to happiness is to take responsibility for your demons. That’s why we’re the fastest-growing Church in the country: people know that, instinctively. We all get dealt a hand in life. You have to play it the best you can and you will become a better person.”
“I see. And what does becoming a better person entail?” I mirrored his body language. He wasn’t the only one with training. “As in, how do you go about it?”
Christopher’s face lit with warm urgency. “Well, accepting the Gospel is a big part of it, as far as I’m concerned. After that, attending services, learning, getting proactive. One-on-one and group counseling is also a very important part of what we do here. The voice of sin is always trying to make us cave into things we don’t really want to do, and talking out those demons helps to banish them. We nominate people for Election when the vessel is prepared and they are ready for the intense experience of receiving the spirit, but God always makes sure you continue to grow.”
“So, you would have had fairly intense contact with the couple, seeing as Wolf Grove had been given a grant by the Church?”
He nodded. “They came here every week for Profession. Dru was preparing to train as a pastor, actually, which is why I saw them so frequently.”
“Profession?” I hadn’t brought a notepad, but I was confident I would remember everything. Binah was watching Christopher as well, and her presence really did improve my memory.
“We encourage our members to profess the sins they have committed, or want to commit.” Christopher spread his hands. “This is how we learn to implement self-mastery. I suppose it’s similar to Catholic confession, but the intent is not to absolve sin. It’s to conquer it. We don’t record anything that’s said.”
“I see.” Which meant he was unlikely to tell me anything about the murdered people beyond platitudes. It was still worth a try. “Did either Lily or Dru discuss anything to do with drug use or drug dealing?”
“Excuse me?” The Pastor balked, then frowned. “Absolutely not. Lily led the drug addiction relief classes here sometimes.”
“There is evidence that they were due to receive a shipment of contraband at their home,” I said, watching him levelly. “A week and a half before they were murdered.”
“I can’t divulge anything said to me in session,” he said. “But I will say that I am fully confident that neither Lily Ross or Dru Ross were involved in anything of that nature. They were good people who cared for very vulnerable children.”
There is was again, that one phrase that everyone kept on using: 'very good people'. “You were aware that most of them were shapeshifters?”
“Of course. We work with Supernatural Support Units all over the country,” he replied. “We were one of the first modern churches to make outreach to the FBI, actually. We provide pastoral support and education for the communities the SSU works with. Brother Aaron is part of that program. Pastor Zach has a strong interest in providing a strong foundation for those with… abilities. It’s very easy for young shapeshifters or young people with arcane ability to be pulled onto very dark paths. We help them to understand their powers are a gift which is given to them for a higher purpose, and that God could just as easily take it away.”
I drew a deep breath, pushing against the tight embrace of the parasite in my body. Binah hopped down to the floor, and began to nose around the chair. “Why are you so confident that ritual abuse is an issue here?”
“Easily.” He sat back, spreading his hands. They were very large for his frame, like he’d never quite grown into them. “I was a victim of it.”
Short and to the point, but effective. “Is this something you are able to discuss?”
“Of course. It’s the reason I entered the ministry, after all.” Christopher worked his jaw again, brows furrowed in thought. “My family was bad soil, as Father Zach put it to me once. My father was a very violent man, an alcoholic. My mother was a house-mouse… she wasn’t a bad woman, but she was helpless against the likes of my father. I was born in the Newark projects. Ran away at seven years old.”
That all sounded familiar. I’d run away from home at eight. I listened, keeping one eye on Binah as she sniffed her way around
the room.
“I was picked up downtown by a man who told me he was from a shelter for abused boys. He said his name was Thomas… he bought me dinner, got me a new warm coat, walked me to his car, then drove me out to a junkyard,” Christopher continued. Some of the light had drained from his eyes, leaving them flat and glassy. “He chained me up in an outhouse building like a dog and injected me with heroin. Then he raped me.”
The bluntness of the word and his strangely academic recitation made it all the more confronting. I said nothing – partly because what was there to say? Partly because for the grace of GOD went I.
“That went on for a while. He got me hooked, and once I was hooked, he started to sell me to others.” The pastor drew a deep breath, and sighed it out. “One night, I was taken to a warehouse where there were people getting ready for a Satanic ritual. I recognized a lot of these people. TV stars. Politicians. Police. They sacrificed a little girl and ate her heart and other organs in front of me. I wasn’t a virgin and therefore not an appropriate offering, so I wasn’t going to be killed – just used and made fun of.”
“The world is full of monsters,” I said.
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Father Zach found me when I was sixteen. I was still hooked on heroin and prostituting myself to feed the habit, though I’d escaped Thomas by that point. I catcalled Father Zach when he walked past me late at night, actually. Can you believe it?”
“I believe there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
He smiled a wry little smile. “He turned back to me, and he said: “Young man, you don’t have anything to offer that I want. What can I offer you?” I asked him for a cigarette and a cup of coffee, because it was cold that night. He agreed… we went to a diner and got talking. I told him I’d never trust a man ever again, and he said to me: “You don’t need to trust anyone yet. What you need to do is listen to the pain of your own heart. That pain is the voice of the Lord speaking to you, telling you that you need to get help.”
“To cut a long story short, I eventually went to his ministry in Chicago, and he adopted me into the church and gave me a home, a real home. He taught me the Gospel, how to get a job, how to drive, everything. He took me in for no other reason except that the Lord spoke to him that night and told him to save this one soul. That I could be saved. He purged me of my addiction and cleansed my body. When I told Zach that I felt the call to preach, he said to me: “Well, I knew that was going to happen! That’s why God told me to save you, and not just anyone!”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Well… that’s quite a story.” I cleared my throat, shifting forward on the chair to stand. “But I think that’s all I need. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
“Wait a moment, Rex. I’d like to ask you something.” Christopher held out a hand, bidding me to stay seated. “The reason I’m willing to share that story with people, even strangers, is because so many people hide their pain from others. So I ask the same question to everyone I speak to. What do you relate to about what I just told you?”
It took me a second to process the question. I frowned, and eased back down. “Well… I didn’t have a wonderful time of things, if that’s what you mean. Not quite as bad as you. The alcoholic father, I suppose.”
“You downplay how hard that can be to deal with. You say it’s ‘not as bad’ as what I went through, but that’s not what I’m seeing.” I couldn’t make sense of his expression. “What did he make you do?”
My stomach jolted with a sudden shock of adrenaline that spread all the way to my fingertips. “What? My father?”
The resemblance to Vassily was no longer apparent in his face. Christopher’s mouth was quite small and narrow. His feature were a jumble of parts now, but his mouth was smiling as he spoke. “It’s… I’ve done a lot of work with people, Rex, some very injured people. I can’t help but notice that you’re a very neat man, a very confident man, but you have the look of someone who was forced to dirty themselves at some point in their life. You seemed to really connect with my story.”
Shock turned to irritation. “I wasn’t molested, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Christopher leaned in towards me. He had remarkably clear eyes, a deep, crystalline blue. “There are many ways you can experience abuse. Just remember that’s not who you are. There’s another way.”
“Religion, I assume?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Not necessarily. It’s my job to teach people about the Gospel, not bribe them or trick them. No, I mean purification. Cleaning of the body and soul,” Christopher replied. “You wouldn’t have to wear those gloves anymore.”
My fingers twitched for a moment. “I have sensitive hands.”
“That kind of sensitivity is very common in people who experienced trauma.” He held up a finger. “Before you go, Rex, I want to give you something.”
Frowning, I watched him rise and cross to his desk. For the first time, I noticed the signs on it. ‘Pastor Christopher Kincaid’ on a bronze plate, and a black and white sign next to it that read ‘Servant Leader’. He took out a pouch from the top drawer of his desk, and from that, he took a coin. He came back and offered it to me. It was a dime, worn smooth with age.
“’Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore, glorify God with your body’,” he quoted the verses with elegant ease. “The first step to recovery is ownership of your body, learn to smile despite the presence of darkness in the world. Take this, and use it to remember your price.”
It was as if time had stopped. I was vaguely aware of the sounds of the city outside the window, but Binah broke the trance. She was meowing at the door and pawing at it, looking back at me with an expression of long-suffering impatience. Reading the faces of animals was always so much easier than trying to do the same with people.
“Well, thank you.” I took the coin and stood up, and this time, I didn’t let him stop me. “I have to get going.”
He smiled, amicable and relaxed, and rose in turn. “Not a problem. You know where to find me. I think we’d have a lot to talk about.”
Not long after, I exited out of the building with several booklets and a lingering feeling of disorientation. Part of it was the foggy feeling brought on by the shock of adrenaline, part of it was the cognitive dissonance of hearing yet another person wax lyrical on how wonderful Lily and Dru Ross had been, and how they couldn’t have been involved in anything except one of the greatest semi-secret tragedies of the decade. But the paperwork with the address was there… somewhere. Or was it? I doubted I’d ever see it again. Ayashe had it now, and the Vigiles would make what they would out of it.
I checked my watch to discover that nearly an hour had passed in Christopher’s office, and it was already eight-thirty in the morning. Agitated and thoughtful, I stalked off down the street into the wind, turning the coin around and around in my pocket.
Chapter 21
The next stop was Crown Heights. When I trod up out of the subway, the street felt taut with unspoken Cold War tension. Gangs of defiant young Hasidic Chabadnik huddled together on street corners, prickly and alert. On the other side of the road, equally defiant gaggles of Caribbean men clustered and talked beside cars and fences. It had been a month since the Crown Riots, but there was still a strong police presence, too – I spotted two blue cars nestled among the line up on the side of the road, and a pair of awkwardly Anglo-Irish officers walking around the block on foot. The weather was decaying into a storm, and the young oaks planted down the sides and center strip of Eastern Parkway fluttered in the cold north wind as it whipped through the buildings and made the fire escapes rattle and hum.
Dr. Yuzef Levental lived and worked in the same building: a white rowhouse block with a short spike fence, tall spiked window bars, and a short, immaculately groomed hedge. Two tiny juniper seedlings flanked the concrete pillars by the doo
r. I buzzed his door, and waited.
“Hello, who is there?” Dr. Levental’s voice was distorted by the intercom, though he sounded as crisp as ever.
“It’s Alexi Grigoriovich,” I replied, and continued on in Russian. “I was wondering if you have time for an early-morning visit?”
There was a pause, and then the intercom shut off. After a few moments, the door buzzed, and I pushed my way into the chilly entrance hall.
Dr. Levental was waiting for me in the threshold of his office, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the frame. By appearances, he could have been my father in another life. Ascetic and sharp-featured, his eyes were black and steely, his face weathered with age. “My goodness, Alexi, it’s been months and months. You look terrible! What has happened to you?”
Before I’d left the clubhouse, I’d put on decent clothes and even brought a hat to cover my head out of respect for the doctor’s Orthodoxy, but there were some things clothes couldn’t hide. My suit was looser on my frame, face gaunt, eyes sunken. “It has been a difficult time, doctor. Alecheim Shalom. It is good to see you well.”
“And peace be unto you, Alexi. But I doubt you are visiting me for peace.” We kissed cheeks before he drew me inside, turning into the house. “Come, close the door. Oy, why do you have a cat?”
“Therapy animal.”
He teched. “Is it properly housetrained?”
“Of course. She’s a perfect gentlewoman.”
Dr. Levental – he was never ‘Yuzef’ – was as devout as he was opportunistic, and he balanced his faith, his extracurricular interests, and his otherwise legal profession exceedingly well. The interior of the office was somehow both ostentatious, in that old New York apartment way, and monastic because of its large expanses of empty space. Like me, he kept floor to ceiling shelves that were full of books. Medical, historical, mythological books. It was a sight that revived the deep-bodied, hollow longing I’d felt since losing my apartment.
Stained Glass: An Alexi Sokolsky Supernatural Thriller (Alexi Sokolsky: Hound of Eden Book 2) Page 20
