Chasing Fireflies (The Morning Star Trilogy)

by Paul Seiple

  “You’re one fat bastard, Bill. I wasn’t sure the wall could hold you up. Truth be told, this cross was for Michael. I’ll have to think of something else for him. You fucked everything up.”

  “You are Michael,” Bill said, barely above a whisper, before spitting blood to the ground.

  “I was going to keep this a little secret. But I’m such a nice guy; I cannot bear the thought of you going to your grave thinking that Michael did this.” George smiled. “Who am I kidding? I don’t give a shit about you. This is about my ego.” He walked over to Bill and traced a circle over his belly with a butcher knife. “I’m not Michael. I’m his twin brother.” George pressed the knife between Bill’s ribs.

  Bill grimaced. “In that case, fuck you. I hope Michael rips you apart.”

  George pulled the knife from Bill. “You know you’re not the first person to tell me that. Well, not that dramatically but the same gist. Sorry, but I’m pretty confident that I have the leg up on my brother. He doesn’t know that I exist. I’m his imaginary friend.”

  George walked to the sink and washed blood from his hands.

  “Jesus died for the sins of others. Do you know why you’re dying, Bill?”

  Consciousness started to evade Bill again. He heard the words, but they were muffled — a jumbled mess.

  “You’re dying because you’re a nosey motherfucker that just couldn’t mind your business. I have a plan. I have to kill six fireflies, as my father calls them. And then the world will belong to me. You’re not one of the fireflies. I’m sure as hell not going to let you get in the way of that. You’d feel the same way if I tried to come between you and a donut, you fat fuck.”

  Bill didn’t see God. He didn’t see the Devil. Words from Revelations came to him "...there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven." Peace surrounded Bill, comforting him just like his mother did that day at Coney Island after he lost his ice cream. He took his last breath knowing that in the end good will always be stronger than evil.

  Chapter 38

  “Just close your eyes and relax,” Barbara said.

  It was hard to relax with six eyes watching my every move. Reid was right about Rebecca. She was calm and even supportive now. I just hoped he was also right about hypnotism. I’d read stories of suppressed memories that once allowed to surface haunted people for the rest of their lives. People fight to keep these memories hidden for a reason.

  “OK, Michael, I want you to think back to your earliest childhood memory. How old are you?”

  My world was black. I saw nothing and then a child appeared riding a tricycle. Quickly, the child disappeared into the emptiness. Replaced by an image of my father, James Callahan tossing a baseball with me in the yard. I was about seven.

  “Seven” I said.

  “And where are you?”

  “I’m playing ball with my father.”

  The image started to fade to an even darker black. An emptiness that chilled me with despair. The child on the tricycle was back. There was a squeaky sound. I remembered it. The wheels of the tricycle.

  “Stop riding that damn thing until I can oil it,” a man said.

  I knew the voice.

  “I’m not seven,” I said to Barbara. “I’m five or six.”

  “What do you see?”

  I saw Norman Wallace digging a hole near the back of a building next to a boat dock.

  “What are you doing, Papa?”

  Norman threw the shovel to the ground. “Get the hell out of here. I’m working.”

  “There’s a woman’s foot hanging out of the hole,” I said.

  “Stay calm, Michael. It’s OK. Where are you?” Barbara asked.

  “At home. Near the boats. Papa told me never to go by the boats. Bad things happen by the boats.”

  My world goes black again. I flinch.

  “What’s wrong, Michael?” Barbara asked.

  “I shouldn’t have went to the boats.”

  Another scene materialized. Norman was arguing with a woman. She looked vaguely familiar. My biological mother. I heard the crying of a baby. I was in my room with a pillow over my head.

  “Papa said not to,” a little boy said. “Now he’s mad at Mama.”

  “Shut that fucking baby up, before I do, Margaret. The secret’s out. You know what I’m capable of. I told you never to come to the dock,” Norman said.

  “What’s happening, Michael?” Barbara asked.

  “Papa is mad because I went to the boats. Mama followed me trying to stop me, but she saw it.”

  “Saw what, Michael?” Barbara asked.

  “She saw Papa cutting up Mrs. Hendricks. I shouldn’t have gone to the boats. George says it's my fault that Papa killed Mama.”

  I woke up screaming.

  Rebecca hugged me. “It’s OK, Michael.”

  Barbara looked at Reid and raised her eyebrows in amazement.

  Rebecca placed her hands on my face, lifted my head, and kissed me. “You’re safe.”

  Physically, I felt safe in Rebecca’s arms, but my mind was anything but safe. I remembered everything. I remembered going to the boat dock, catching my father burying Mrs. Hendricks, an elementary school teacher who went missing after a trip to the grocery store. I remembered the look on my mother’s face when she looked into the hole and saw the dismembered body. I remembered my mother’s screams as she pleaded for her life. I remembered my father saying over and over again, “All you had to do was keep that fucking brat away from the dock,” as he beat my mother with a mallet in front of me and my brother. I remembered my father leaving me and my sister to die. My sister?

  “You OK to talk?” Reid asked.

  “He killed my mother,” I said.

  “The boat dock. Is this at the house where the police found you? The house where they dug up those bodies?” Reid asked.

  “No. Norman had a cabin near the Outer Banks. That’s where he killed my mother.”

  “Do you remember where it was?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Do you think you can if you go back under?” Reid asked.

  “You’re not doing that to him again,” Rebecca said.

  “It’s probably a good idea to wait a bit, Reid,” Barbara said. “Let him come to terms with this.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  I wasn’t fine. I watched my biological father kill my mother right in front of me. What about my sister? Reid didn’t mention that I had a sister. Did he know? What did Norman do to her? Terror pressed against my chest with the force of a stampeding elephant. My lungs ached. My heart banged against my breastbone like a victim banging against a locked door. I was the victim. My memories had me trapped. There was no way around them. Now, I had to go through them.

  “OK, count down from ten and when you get to one you’ll be six again,” Barbara said.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Rebecca said.

  I held her hand and closed my eyes. I had no choice but to confront these demons. This time the black was more of a gray. I was in the woods staring at a deer through the scope of a gun.

  “How old are you?” Barbara asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the woods,” I said.

  “Pull the trigger, end its suffering,” the male voice said.

  “I don’t know if I can.” With tears in my eyes, I turned to see Norman Wallace looking at me. A hint of disappointment, only overshadowed by a look of impatience.

  “I’m not me,” I said.

  “Who are you?” Barbara asked.

  “George, you’re going to save the world by ending it. This deer is one of God’s creatures. Don’t make it suffer through the harshness of winter. You must provide it passage to a safer place,” Norman said

  “George,” I said to Barbara. “I’m my brother. Norman is trying to convince him that by kil
ling, he is purging the word.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at Reid. “Norman thinks he is the Devil and he has convinced George that he is the antichrist. George sees the women as fireflies — angels. He will kill six because he associates that with opening the seals in Revelations. He thinks I’m the sixth seal.”

  “Is Norman alive?” Reid asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m only a kid.”

  A fog encased the vision, starting at the ground, swirling around Norman. Then me. The world was dull gray again. I clenched my teeth, strained my eyes, but couldn’t bring the scene back.

  Chapter 39

  “This is the last time we can meet in public until this is over,” Art said, taking a seat on a park bench next to George.

  “See that woman with her dog?”

  A woman, probably in her early thirties, was tossing a ball with a Collie. Two small children sat on a checkerboard blanket next to the woman playing with colored blocks.

  “Yes,” Art said.

  “Do you think God would spare her?”

  “She’s not a firefly,” Art said. A burning rushed through him. Saliva flooded his mouth. The woman met his profile. His mouth watered at the thought of ending her life.

  “But she seems like a good person. Two kids. A dog. Living the American Dream. I bet she goes to church on Sundays and gives God all the praise for every blessing in her life.”

  “Maybe so.” Art couldn't get the image of gutting the woman out of his mind.

  “So, why do you think God wouldn’t allow her into Heaven?” George looked at Art. “Because she doesn’t have a fucking glow?”

  The tone of defiance in George's voice brought Art back to reality. “What are you getting at, son?”

  “I had another dream. A strange dream,” George said, smiling. “Not a dream. An epiphany. You’re not being honest with me, father.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This isn’t about getting revenge on God for banishing you to Earth. You’re not the Devil. It’s just another one of your lies. You’re just a regular man who cuts, bleeds and dies just like that bitch with her kids. This is about Michael. I took a nap earlier. Naps are essential to a healthy, long life. Did you know that, Papa?”

  Art didn't answer.

  "I saw things through Michael's eyes. I saw him catch you as you tried to cover up your kink. Remember that school teacher you cut to pieces? Michael spoiled your fun and you're using me to get him back. He's been the reason all along."

  Art slid away, putting some space between him and George.

  “Don’t worry, Papa. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to see this through. But no more bullshit. Sure, it’s been fun playing the Revelations card. I’m going to kill Michael for you and then I’m going to make this world my bitch. Are we clear?”

  “You cannot go about this without a plan,” Art said.

  “Oh, I have a plan. It’s just no longer your plan. This epiphany allowed me to see everything about you, Norman. The pits, as you called them, where you buried the women.” George smiled. “You’ve been lying to me all along, Papa.”

  “I haven’t lied, son. You can still be the antichrist.”

  George laughed, loud enough to draw attention. “I have no doubt that I will be the most feared man on this planet. I no longer need your reassurance with that. I saw things from Michael’s eyes. You didn’t adopt me because my family threw me out. You threw Michael out. You blame him for raining on your little murder parade.”

  “Son...”

  “I’m not mad at you. I understand that you had to fuel me with hate to get me to become the killing machine you wanted. But, Papa, you’re in my blood. You should have never doubted me.”

  “I’ve always had faith in you, George.”

  “Faith. What a funny word. It gets tossed around more than a twenty dollar whore giving five dollar blowjobs. Fuck faith, Papa.”

  “What about the fifth firefly?”

  George looked at Art and inched toward him. “Call them fireflies again and I’ll rip out your fucking windpipe and play fetch with Lassie over there.”

  Art stood up. George grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

  “What’s wrong, Norman, don’t you like the monster I’ve become? Is my real name even George?”

  “Yes,” Art said.

  George smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m still going to kill Rebecca Aaron. Not because she is an angel, but because she is a pretty bitch. And all pretty bitches need to suffer.”

  George and Art sat silent for a few moments watching the woman fold up the blanket and gather the kids’ toys. She made her children lock hands and she took the hand of the oldest. The strength of a family chain was hard to break. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Norman. For a moment, he didn’t see the woman. He saw his wife, Margaret; she was holding George’s hand. He must have been about six years old. And George was holding Michael’s hand. Norman saw himself get up, a sort of out-of-body experience, from the park bench and walk over to Margaret and hit her with a mallet. Michael cried. George looked at him and said, “You shouldn’t have went to the boats.”

  The woman called the dog. The Collie trotted beside the children to a silver minivan.

  Norman leaned in to George and whispered in his ear. “Don’t ever forget that I created the monster. I can slay the monster. If you ever threaten me again, I’ll show you Hell firsthand. He gave George a light peck on the top of his head and turned to walk away.

  George smiled.

  Chapter 40

  “Are you sure you’re OK with this?” I asked. “You don’t have to do it. We can find another way.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Rebecca said.

  I looked to Reid for reassurance. I trusted him. I allowed him into the darkness that plagued me for years. I gave him the letters, the mementos, my brother had sent me. Reid knew everything. He wouldn't lie to me if this wasn't going to be all right. The confidence in his nod eased my mind, but we were still dangling Rebecca over the nose of a hungry shark. This was something I'd never be comfortable with, but it was the only way. The gnawing in the pit of my gut intensified at the thought of Rebecca being used as a pawn. Strategically pawns are throw away pieces. Weakened soldiers used to lure the enemy into the open. There was no value of life for pawns.

  Rebecca sensed my uneasiness. She winked. Just a solitary blink of her icy, blue eye appraised her value to me — priceless. Until her smile melted me, I placed soul mates in the same category as fairies — fictional characters written into stories to give hope. But the way I felt with Rebecca — the warmth, the comfort, in such a short time —showed me that soul mates were real. There was no way I was going to devalue this queen with pawn status.

  “I’ll be fine,” Rebecca said. “I have you two super cops to back me up.”

  She smiled, but it was forced. Something wasn’t right.

  “You really don’t have to do this,” I said.

  “I’m not scared,” Rebecca paused, “But I need to tell you something.”

  Rebecca proceeded to tell me about going uptown and visiting Redd’s hardware. She went there looking for a story and planned on going back until she received the call from me. She told me about the ramblings George had written on the wall.

  “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you,” Rebecca said with a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

  I brushed the water away. I wanted to be mad. Not so much because she kept this from me, but more so because she risked her life. For what? An exclusive story? That’s the life of a reporter. If things worked out between us, I would worry more about her job hazards than she would worry about mine. I put my hands on either side of her head and kissed her forehead. “It’s OK,” I said.

  “I really want to catch this bastard,” Rebecca said.

  I smiled and wiped away another tear from her cheek. “Then catch this bastard, we will.”

  “How does it go down, Michael?” Reid asked.

  I
gave a play-by-play of the dreams where George took Rebecca. He would be watching for her when she left the television station. But he wouldn't take her there. George would wait until she left yoga. He watched them for weeks before acting. I wasn’t sure if George was being meticulous or if he just got off on stalking his prey. The evolution of the attacks led me to believe that he probably started out rehashing every move ad nauseam. But with each kill he felt more powerful. With an inflated ego, George was less predictable. He could strike at any time.

  In the dreams George followed Rebecca to her condo, just as he did Kat Nelson. He would pull into the parking space beside Rebecca and open his door against her car. After apologizing profusely and exchanging insurance information, George hit her with a closed fist to the temple — a quick knockout. He practiced the trajectory of the punch in his car as he waited for the opportune time.

  “You’re sure he follows her from work?” Barbara asked.

  “Little things in the dreams are off. The abduction always seems to be right. The location is a blur. Like a puzzle with missing pieces. But he follows her from work to the yoga studio. I can hear his thoughts. He takes the victims from places they feel the most comfortable. I didn’t recognize any of the others. Well, I saw Maggie Hoover before he took her, but I couldn’t save her. After meeting her, the dreams involving Maggie became clear. I just couldn’t save her. I'm certain that he will try to take Rebecca after yoga.”

  “This is where we have the leg up on George,” Reid said. “To this point he knew Michael was a blind mouse chasing the scent of cheese. As far as he knows, that’s still the case. George doesn’t have a clue that Michael knows Rebecca is the next victim.”

  “When I saw Rebecca at the Hoover crime scene, everything involving her abduction became clear,” I said.

  “You can tell the truth,” Rebecca said. “It was the legs that jarred your memory wasn’t it?” Rebecca extended her leg in an attempt to ease tension.

  “OK, just to be safe, I’m going to go to work with Rebecca,” Barbara said. “There is no way the perp will recognize me. I’ll shadow her as a new anchorwoman in from Colorado.”