Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series)

by Douglas Clegg

  On one edge of the lake, the remnants of what looks like a small camp.

  A semi-circle of small cabins. One larger one, more of a house than simply a summer cabin.

  An old, rotten arch of a sign in front of the gravel drive up to the house. It says, "Cobble Christian Summer Camp for Saved Children." The lettering, gray and faint.

  Wind blows it back and forth. The lights on the porch of the house waver.

  The snow coming down in the darkening wood around it.

  A girl yells inside.

  2

  Monica Scrubb had been sixteen when she'd first met Duane Cobble, and had run away from her third group home up in Palmdale just to be with him. That was back when he did the route up through the mountains, instead of down into the flatlands below. She had been desperate to get out of the last place, and had met Duane at a truck stop. He'd been eating creamed chipped beef, and she'd had a cup of watered-down coffee and a bear claw, which nabbed her last dime. Duane had not been cute, nor had he been particularly charismatic, but she knew when a guy was hot for her, and she needed to get the hell out of dodge and find a new place to live.

  He'd been good to her, at least better than the guy running the group home who'd pawed her up and down and the damn lesbos who had been on her like flies on shit every night when she went to bed. She was only just eighteen now, and had thought that she and Duane would be okay together for a while.

  But then, that witch, his mother, had been taking him over, slowly but surely. Monica Scrubb hoped that the witch would die so that she and Duane could start their little family without the nastiness.

  The witch, and the dog. Death's coming for both of 'em.

  Monica slept five hours a day. Pissed her off to no end. Got up in the middle of the day to relieve Duane or the visiting nurse to go sit with the damn witch and hear her complain about life and about how Jesus had forgotten her.

  Then, at nine, she had to change back into her Donut Queen outfit and head back down the mountain to Bannock where the Donut Queen's Castle awaited her, full to the brim with the stink of grease and day-old coffee.

  It wasn't the life she'd signed on for, and pissed was her normal state of mind.

  And Duane had been getting worse. Duane had been spending more time down in that cave than with her.

  And he'd been getting rougher with the sex. He didn't care about her feelings anymore.

  But she'd show him.

  3

  "We're havin' a baby!" she shouted, throwing a spoon at him all the way from the kitchen.

  The spoon barely missed his scalp, and went clattering onto the floor by the TV. The old dog perked up and raised his head to start howling.

  "Shut up, Jojo!" She cried out, "Goddamn it, Duane, you promised that when the baby comes we'd have our own place."

  "We got the other cabins," Duane said, his voice small, like a little boy's.

  "Rat traps," she said. "That's all they are. Leaky roof, black widow infested, snake hotels is what they are. I should just burn those cabins down. Jesus, Duane. I mean, Jesus."

  "She's usin' the Lord's name in vain again!" the old woman shouted from her bedroom.

  "Shut the hell up!" Monica shouted, half turning to stare at the door. Then, in a quieter voice, "You tell that bitch to lay off talkin' about my family like we was white trash, Duane, or so help me god I am gonna put her face in her own shit next time she starts in on me."

  "Don't talk about her that way," Duane said. "She's a saint. She's a saint."

  "She is a sick bitch," Monica spat. "And you are a sick fuck, and we are gonna have a baby you goddamn Jesus Freak. You and me. Whether you like it or not."

  That's when Duane rushed over to her and slammed his fist as hard as he could against her jaw.

  Before she blacked out, Monica heard a slight cracking sound.

  4

  She woke up seconds later. He had already brought her to the couch, and he sat on the floor next to her.

  "You okay?"

  She hesitated before answering to draw out that worried look on his face. "I guess. You sorry for hittin' me?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Get me a ciggie."

  "Okay."

  "Jesus, Duane, we got a baby coming in six months, and you ain't done none of the things you promised. You ain't done all the big world things you said you was gonna do when I met you. You had plans then, baby. Plans. I shoulda stayed in Palmdale and let Granger play poke-Monica for all it matters. We got a baby. Thanks," she said, snatching the cigarette from his hands. She leaned forward as he flipped up the lighter and got the little flame up. She took a nice deep drag. "I gave up meth for this baby, honey. You need to keep up your end of the bargain. I'm killin' myself, I mean killin' myself at that place, donut crap in my hair, customers grabbing my ass when I pour coffee." Her voice went from a young woman's to a little girl's, a baby voice. "I just want you to be my daddy and take care of me and our baby, Duaney."

  "I will."

  "I know you need private time. I know all men do. But you been spending all that time down in that cave."

  "I talk to God there."

  "Sure you do. I understand. It's important to you. That's why I never go down there. Men got private things to take care of." She didn't want to tell him that she was happy when he spent time in that old bomb shelter. It kept him from bothering her if she was home. "But I need you to start makin' plans for our baby."

  5

  It watches her but doesn't want her to know. It has let the Other One take it over. Watching the Whore with her talk about babies, when it knew that the only baby that she'd poop out would be the Antichrist. It knew that the only seed it had was the Other One's seed. That's why it was chosen. That's why its daddy had tried to teach it to hurt itself, to drive the Other One out of its body.

  It has only begun to think of how it will stop the Antichrist from being born.

  But other things are on its mind.

  Jojo, the only good dog who ever lived. He is dying.

  And its mother. She is a saint. She is second only to the Virgin Mary. She is a Queen of Angels.

  And she's going to Heaven too soon.

  The Whore and her Devil Child will go to Hell.

  It just has to figure out when it will send them to Hell.

  Whenever it says Monica, looks at the Whore, it remembers its sister Ruthie, and how beautiful Ruthie was before she got sent to Hell.

  Monica is like Ruthie.

  Ruthie and it and its brother playing together as children.

  Playing together and finding out their badness.

  Their hellish natures.

  Its daddy with the boiling water, showing it how it didn't have any pain, because it had the Devil inside it.

  6

  Monica glanced at her watch. She shook her wrist slightly. "Damn, I just bought this two weeks ago and it already's slowin' down. I gotta go in at seven tonight, baby. Don't drive me this time. I can just take your truck."

  "I need the truck," it said.

  "Well, my car ain't making it down in the snow."

  "I need it."

  She sat up on the couch, touching the edge of her jaw, and back to her lips. She was used to being hit. Even liked getting a slap sometimes, it knew. But it felt bad for hitting her so hard. "Okay. Take my truck. That's okay. You need to go into work."

  Then, its mother began calling out to it from the other room.

  7

  "Mama?"

  "I don't wanna die," she said.

  It shuts the door behind it, and goes to sit in the little metal chair by her bed. It moves the tubes that hang down around her so that it can see her better while it's talking to her.

  "You won't die."

  "I will. Duane. I will. I'll go to heaven and see Daddy again."

  "Don't talk like that."

  "I guess I got to die. I guess that's the Lord's way."

  It reached across the covers and took her hand in its own hand, feeling the rough wa
rmth.

  "'Member when Daddy used to talk about the sweet hereafter? The angels?"

  It smiles. "Sure."

  "I thought you were dead once," she said. "I dreamed it. After Ruthie died. I was so sad, Duane. I slept for days. Do you remember? I slept and barely ate anything. Daddy kept telling me that it was the Lord's way. That the Lord was calling Ruthie and it was my pride that kept me from seeing that."

  "Ruthie went to Hell," it said, and then wished it hadn't said anything about Ruthie.

  "I don't know," its mother said. "Sometimes I think Daddy was wrong. Ruthie was headstrong. She was a fighter. And yes, the Devil was upon her at times. There's no denying that. Remember the revivals? Remember the camp?"

  "I was born after the camp closed."

  "Oh, yes. Yes. Now I recollect, that's true. We used to run the most wonderful Bible studies for the children. All children are little angels, Duane. Even Ruthie, as much as Daddy tried to get the demons out of her, even Ruthie was a little angel. Maybe I'll see her. Maybe if I go to heaven, I can see her."

  "Maybe," it said. But it knew that Ruthie was in Hell. In the darkness of Hell forever. Until the end of days. Ruthie was the Whore of Babylon the Great. Ruthie brought Devils out when she spoke. That was what his daddy had preached.

  "If I die soon," its mother said, "if I die soon...there's something I need to tell you. I can't feel good about dying if I don't let you know."

  "Mama?"

  "I promised your daddy I wouldn't tell you. But I should tell you. You should know." Its mother cleared her throat.

  It felt her hand clutch its hand tighter.

  "Pain's comin' back."

  "Want more?" it said, reaching to the small button on the side of the tube where the morphine came down.

  "Little more," she said. "More."

  It pressed the button slightly, then released it.

  Then, again.

  "You know I always loved you the best. We took in those other children. I never understood Ruthie or why she was so troubled. You weren't like that. Not as much. You kids got up to no good sometimes, but I know children do that. But the other children we took in. Do you remember them?"

  It nodded. "My brother."

  "Yes, there were three little boys at different times. Andy and Brian and Mikey."

  "I talk to Mikey sometimes."

  "Do you? How is he?"

  "He's perfect," it said.

  "I loved that little wild boy. I loved all my children. All of you troubled, but just in need to prayer and saving. Remember what it was like back then? I woke up every morning happy. Your daddy did, too. He had his troubled times, but when we helped other Christian children, he was happy. He took you boys down to the shelter to pray every days. Every single day. And when you ran away..." She kept talking but it didn't listen much. It pressed the little button on the morphine so she'd have an easier time of it. Her pain could be fierce. It didn't like her talking about those days, back when it was a kid, back when it was in the Mad Place too much.

  It had not run away from home at all, but its daddy had put it down in the Mad Place for days on end. It had been a secret from its mother, and it knew it deserved to be there. But it's mother had thought that it had simply run off to go camping in the woods the way, its daddy had explained to her, that bad boys sometimes do.

  Its mother had never known what they'd all been up to in the Mad Place. Or why its father spent so much time there, trying to save them.

  Trying to save Ruthie from her destiny, preordained in perdition.

  Its mother never even know how Ruthie had gone straight to Hell. Its mother had been that sensitive, that gentle, that she had no idea how daddy had sealed Ruthie up in the place between Heaven and Hell, buried alive in the bowels of the earth.

  "Duane?" its mother asked, her gnarled hand pressing against his fingers. "Duane? You thinking about that whore?"

  "She's gonna be my wife. Don't talk like that."

  "She's a whore if there ever was one, and you know it, and your daddy'd know it if he was here. Don't you let her ruin your life, Duane. She's trash and she knows it and she never even got baptized, she's that bad. After I die, I want you to find a good woman. A woman like me," its mother said. "Someone who..." Her voice trailed off.

  "Mama?" It asked.

  Then, it looked at the hand that was not holding its mama's hand.

  The other hand had been pressing on the morphine too much.

  If thy left hand offend them, cut it off.

  It let go over the intravenous tube, and let go of its mother's hand. She was off dreaming, sleeping without pain, and that's all that mattered.

  "You won't die tonight, Mama," it said, softly. "I love you too much."

  It always gave her a little more morphine at night, just in case one of the little birds in the Made Place started screaming.

  She didn't need to hear that kind of thing.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  1

  Fasteau took the curves of Route 18 too fast, and when they started hitting the accumulating gray slush as they reached higher elevations, Laymon put her hands on the dashboard as if this would somehow save her in an accident. The road up the mountain was windy and gave her a lurch in her stomach now and then, particularly the way Fasteau hugged the outer curves, giving Jane a murky view of the canyons and valley below.

  "We're not rushing."

  "What the fuck," Fasteau said.

  "Just slow down," she said, nearly under her breath.

  It would normally take thirty minutes to get to Blue Jay, one of the first major communities up in the mountain range, but because of the snow, they clocked it at fifty minutes, and then, with the sun just going down, visibility "sucks big time," Fasteau said.

  "Ever the poet," Jane said.

  "I gotta pee," he said.

  "Okay. Pull over at the next lookout area. See? Look, it's coming up," she said.

  2

  They pulled over onto gravel, and then onto the paved area that curved out a bit from the mountain road, overlooking the entire valley. It was misty gray with rain below, but that was nothing compared with the snow coming down.

  She got out of the car, stretching.

  He went over to the edge of the guard rail to relieve himself. "Tell me if you see anyone coming!" he shouted back.

  "Are you kidding? I'm selling tickets."

  When he'd zipped up and headed back to the car, he pointed at the wooden sign that had the words "Scenic Overlook" on it. "I bet you couldn't hit that sign."

  "Don't get my competitive spirit up, I just might do it."

  "You couldn't do it if you wanted to."

  "Fasteau, sometimes I feel like I'm partnered with a great big ape, only that's an insult to apes everywhere."

  "I just think you're not up for the requal tomorrow."

  She actually had to bite her tongue — press down on it with her front teeth to keep from saying the nasty words she'd begun thinking.

  Then, she said, "Let's think about Lucas Conroy and a little less about who has the bigger dick."

  The sun was far over to the west, somewhere, hidden from the gray-white view of cloud and storm.

  The world began to darken as she got back into the car.

  She didn't pray a lot, but she sent a little prayer out for Lucas, just because she didn't want to believe that God wouldn't somehow protect him. But God hadn't protected the other kids.

  And that's when they got the call from the valley.

  Another kid had been found.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Elise drove up the narrow road that went beside the main highway. The wind had picked up, and the snow came down at a slant. The sky darkened gradually.

  Elise flicked on the interior light in the car.

  Scoleri kept up his chatter. "I used to come up here when I was a boy."

  "So, the Red Angel is here?"

  Scoleri shut down. Closed his eyes. No words.

  Trey glanced at Eli
se's eyes in the rearview mirror.

  "What's going to get you to tell us what we need to know?"

  Suddenly, Scoleri opened his eyes. "You want to be inside my head? You want to come live here with me? Do you? If you do, you will not be the same. You will not live your happy little life of comfort, your suburban dreams of sweet birdsong. You want to crawl inside my mind? Because that's what you're going to do if you want to find the boy. Or should I call him 'the little bird' — that's what our dear Red Angel calls him. And you know what the Devil does to birds? He cuts off their wings. He slices them and he makes pretty little ornaments for angels out of them. Little bloody angels so he can have a choir in Hell. You want to see what I've seen? What I hear from the Devil? What I know? There are other children in the Devil's choir. Some of them never fly away. Some of them go missing only no one has ever known it because they came from families who didn't care. They were easy for the Devil to take, but they aren't his angels. Do you know what an angel is, Trey? I mean, really, let's talk about it. Do you know?"

  Trey nodded. "A messenger of God."

  "And who is God?"

  Trey hesitated. "According to you, you are God."

  "Good boy," Scoleri said. "I am God. And the nature of God is what?"

  "To create."

  "Not just create. The nature of God is to forgive."

  "Is he asking for your forgiveness?" Trey asked.

  "He's the Devil. Of course he is."

  "Are these children sent out as messages for you?"

  "Does God send messages for Himself?"

  "You lost me."

  "That's because you're not inside my head yet. Once you are, you'll have the key. When you have the key," Scoleri said, turning his head to look out at the snow and the oncoming night. "Then, maybe you can open the door and get inside me. The way I know you want to be inside me. And then you, and my dear Elise, will find that little angel before it gets all red with blood."