The Awakening (The Judas Curse Book 1)

by Angella Graff

  Had it been another life, had he been another man, he would have married Abby and loved her until the day she died. But Mark had walked down that road before. He had married, had children, and from afar he had to watch them grow up and grow old without him. He had to leave them alone, and watch over the years as the women he loved moved on to another man, and eventually forgot him. His children forgetting his face, forgetting his name as they entered the winter of their lives, being lowered into the ground for their eternal sleep as he now walked over their graves.

  Mark wouldn't do that again, but it didn't make the loneliness lessen, or the pain of loss hurt less. With a heavy sigh, he cleared up the cups of tea, went into his bedroom, turned out his lights and lay on his bed, wondering how exactly he was going to get Yehuda out of this situation yet again.

  seventeen

  By the time three weeks had passed from the Hospital Incident, as Ben was calling it in his head, he'd actually started to forget Mark and the man Mark claimed was Judas Iscariot. If Ben was being honest with himself, however, it wasn't so much forgetting as it was suppressing and deliberately not thinking about.

  Luckily for Ben, he was the lead homicide detective and in a city like San Francisco, there was no shortage of cases for him to work on. He took cases he would have delegated to some of the other officers, only to keep his mind off of the events that had taken place, which had, though he was hard pressed to admit, shaken him to his very core.

  Still, as the month passed, sleeping at night became easier, and he was drinking less. He hadn't touched his bottle of sleep aids the doctor had prescribed, and he had stopped typing 'spontaneous disappearing brain tumors' and 'religious healings' into the internet search engine.

  As a matter of fact, as the first week of October raced by, Ben hadn't thought about Mark, or Judas, or brain tumors for nearly six days, and he was rather enjoying his cup of boiling hot, bitter coffee with a large, complicated case sitting in front of him. The case, in fact, was tied to one he’d been given just before he was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

  The case was interesting, involving medical patients in a hospital just north of San Jose. All four of the patients had been in long term comas, and all four had been allegedly kidnapped from the hospital two weeks prior to their bodies being found.

  They were all found in separate locations, all dressed in street clothes, and all apparently dead of natural causes. The exact cause of death was still undetermined, their bodies at the county morgue undergoing autopsy, but there was too much coincidence for it to be anything other than murder. The doctors of all four patients insisted that the three men and one woman were too far gone to have gotten up and walked out of their own accord.

  This was just the kind of thing Ben dreamed of getting on his desk in the morning; complicated, confusing, massive amounts of detail, no obvious conclusion, no motive, and no suspects. Cracking his knuckles, Ben began to click through the patients' files, checking their records. He sent an immediate background check on the patients and their immediate family members.

  It was when he was emailing out a request of the visitors log the nights that the patients went missing that Ben bothered to glance out of his office window and he saw two people stroll up to the front desk.

  Ben recognized them as detectives, not by badges or even by faces he knew, but by the tell-tale caffeine tremble in their hands, their pressed blue suits, and the shifting of their eyes, as though they tried to download everything into their brains all at once.

  It was when the officer behind the front desk pointed to Ben's office that Ben felt a sinking suspicion that something was about to rear its ugly head and bite him. He sat back and continued the email, watching out of the corner of his eye as the two men paused at his door and knocked.

  Ben took a deliberately inappropriate amount of time before he yelled, “Come in!”

  The door swung open and both men swaggered in. By the looks of them, Ben could tell they were fairly new on the job. Their suits were too new, both a near identical navy color, and they were perfectly clean and pressed. The cuffs of their white shirts lacked the appropriate amount of coffee stains, and their shoes were polished and unscuffed.

  The taller man seemed to be the more veteran, taking the leader's stance. He stood very straight, his dark skin giving off an almost ethereal glow under the painfully bright fluorescent lights, and he was clearly doing well by the rather expensive Bulova watch hanging a little too loosely on his large wrist. His eyes were narrow, and he had a rough, take-no-prisoners expression on his face as he stepped in front of his shorter, and decidedly more nervous, partner.

  “Detective Stanford?” he asked, his voice surprisingly light, and not at all what Ben expected to hear.

  “That would be me. Have a seat, if you like,” Ben said, anxious to get back to his case.

  “Thank you,” the man said, and gestured for his partner to take the chair on his right. “I'm Detective Phillip Burgess, and this is my partner, Detective Daniel Ross. We'd like to ask you a couple of questions regarding a patient at Edgington mental health hospital.”

  Ben fought back a groan as he sized up the two men. Burgess, while still being new enough to the job to overly enunciate and punctuate his words, seemed like he'd been doing the job long enough to think with reason instead of testosterone.

  The other man, however, was so brand new he was in his raw nerves stage, as Ben fondly remembered. He was shorter than Burgess by almost half a foot, and his pressed suit seemed to hang off his body in a way that told Ben he had never been accustomed to wearing business suits. His skin was very light, his hair a yellowish blond, cut very short, almost military style, and his eyes darted around the room, not to take in all the details, but to ensure a way out should things go wrong.

  Ben leaned over his desk, clasping his hands together, and gave the men a nod. “Absolutely, how can I help?”

  “We have the logs here from the visitor's check in regarding one John Doe admitted five weeks ago as a comatose patient,” Burgess said, passing over a copy of the visitor's log. Ben immediately spotted his own scrawl, and the ones under it of Abby and Mark.

  “Yes,” Ben said with a nod. “I was involved in the initial altercation regarding John Doe at Grace Chapel. It so happened that my sister, Abigail Stanford who is on the list below me, was connected to a particular person working with her at Sacred Heart who had indicated that he knew the identity of our John Doe. It's all in my official report.” Ben was slightly irritated that he was even being questioned on this. He had followed exact protocol and the report was filed on time.

  “I did read your report,” Burgess said with a nod, meeting Ben's eyes. “What confuses me is that the man named Father Mark Roman, who you said was not able to identify John Doe, went back no less than thirty-six times to visit John Doe, and filed a formal request with the hospital administration to have John Doe released to his custody once the sixty-day observation came to an end.”

  Ben frowned and suppressed his urge to punch something. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “It's concerning that a man you reported could not positively identify this John Doe went back to visit him more than once a day over the last four weeks,” Ross finally spoke up, his voice scratchy, like a perpetual smoker. “How well do you know Mark Roman?”

  Ben sat back and shrugged. “Not well, to be honest. My sister brought him in to see me while I was having a medical procedure done, and she claimed that Mark could identify this John Doe. I found his claim a little reaching, as the man is completely blind, but he insisted he would be able to identify him. Unfortunately he wasn't able to offer me any conclusive evidence, nor was he able to produce a name,” that I would believe, Ben added in his head, “and I had to let it go. Has Roman done something illegal, Detectives?”

  The pair exchanged a look and Burgess cleared his throat. “It seems that John Doe has gone missing.”

  “Seems as though he's gone missing?” Ben repeated with
a hint of sarcasm.

  “The hospital records indicate that a final vitals check was performed just after midnight, and when the shift change occurred, the nurse on duty went to check on him, and his bed was empty. There was no sign of forced entry, the restraints had been carefully undone, and the security cameras didn't pick up anyone entering or exiting the building between the hours of midnight and six am.”

  Ben licked his lips and frowned. This was disturbingly like the cases sitting on his desk, except that these were dead bodies, and John Doe was simply missing. However, the dead bodies had started out their journey as missing persons. Ben had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “Have you questioned Father Roman?” he asked after a short silence.

  “Not presently. We wish to question him and your sister as well, though her name doesn't appear on the visitors log aside from the day she accompanied you,” Burgess said.

  “So why would you drag my sister into this?” Ben asked, feeling fiercely overprotective and angry that her name would even be brought up.

  “Sacred Heart administration informed us that your sister seems to be a close companion of Father Roman, and for that, we have reason to believe that if Roman is involved in the disappearance, your sister may have aided him.”

  “My sister would never involve herself in something like that,” Ben began angrily, but took a deep breath and sat back. “However, question her if you must.” Ben knew that if Abigail was in any way responsible for any of this, she would have called him.

  The truth was, Ben didn't believe for a second that Mark had anything to do with this at all. He knew that Mark believed John Doe was Judas Iscariot, which wasn't something Ben had been willing to put in the report, but he couldn’t believe Mark would have been able to get the unconscious man out of the hospital without being seen.

  The missing man's case was eerily similar to the case Ben found himself staring at, and in the pit of his stomach, he feared that they were related. “Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I'd like to accompany you to Sacred Heart.”

  “What for?” Ross asked, his eyes narrow and suspicious.

  “I happen to be working on a homicide involving several comatose patients that mysteriously disappeared from their hospital room, only to turn up dead two weeks later outside of the hospital. Though this occurred in San Diego County, it's similar enough for me to feel suspicious, and if this Mark person had anything to do with the missing John Doe, he may have some information on my case as well.”

  Burgess looked at his partner and then gave a nonchalant shrug. “I don't see any problem with it. We have a couple of more witnesses to question, and planned to make contact with Father Roman and Abigail just after Sacred Heart classes are let out.”

  “I'll meet you there, then,” Ben said, and with that, stood up and showed the two men out of his office. With a sigh, he watched them head for the front door and after a moment, Ben returned to his desk. He hesitated for some time, wondering if maybe Mark really could be behind this. He had no problem falsifying his medical condition, and his position as priest, as far as Ben could tell, so why not this.

  Another small part of him worried, because it was painfully clear Abby was head over heels for this man, and he wasn't sure what lengths she would go to in order to help someone she trusted; as misguided as her trust could be. Ben finally picked up the phone and dialed Abby, knowing he would get her voicemail, and waited for the beep.

  “I'll be by Sacred Heart later this afternoon after classes get out. Call me if you can, otherwise I'll see you then. Love you, sis.” He hung up, keeping the message short and leaving no indication that there was going to be an interrogation. The last thing Ben needed was to be under suspicion for aiding in a crime, especially one that might be, on the outside, related to four homicides in his jurisdiction.

  In order to keep himself from obsessing over whether or not Abby had gotten herself into something dangerous, Ben went straight to work. He knew it was going to take some time before he got all of the necessary information to move forward in his case, but what he really wanted to know was if this had happened before in recent years.

  He went back to the original case and did a basic database search, but didn't come up with anything until he expanded his search outside of his county. As he expanded his scope southwards, cases popped up, red-flagged and he noticed a disturbing trend.

  Over the last ten years, at least seventeen patients, all reported comatose, had appeared to have gotten up, walked out of the hospital and turned up dead two weeks later. In one of the closed cases, a parking lot security camera caught a video of a man who had suffered a severe brain injury walking through the parking lot, getting into a car and driving off.

  The man was later found at inside an abandoned church, and autopsy revealed severe decay in the brain and vital organs. The coroner ruled the death natural causes, stating that it was likely due to atrophy and disuse of his own body that led to the man's death. Still, there was no explanation as to why the man suddenly woke up, and why the monitors he was on never indicated a change in condition before he strolled out of the hospital.

  Another thing Ben found was that all of the hospital security cameras apparently malfunctioned around the times all the patients disappeared. “Why hasn't anyone picked up on this?” he asked himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  He loaded up the security video of the man walking through the parking lot. It was grainy and dark, but clear enough to see what was going on. The man was walking, nearly stumbling across the pavement. Clothed in only a hospital gown, the man seemed to waver, standing in between several cars. After a moment, the man lurched to the car on his left, and opened the door.

  Ben was about to close the video when the man suddenly looked up, making eye contact with the camera. Despite there being no real lighting in the parking lot, the man's eyes seemed to flash, as though someone had shined a light from inside of his skull. It was only a brief second, but it was enough to make Ben jump in his seat.

  Heart racing, Ben watched the video over and over. He watched the man's passive face as he looked up at the camera, the flashing eyes, and the stumbling, awkward gestures. The car sped off, swerving, barely missing several vehicles as it drove out of sight.

  Ben's mouth had gone completely dry and he pushed the monitor back away from him. “This is insane,” he muttered to himself.

  He sent several of the reports to the printing queue and stood up. Ben had worked straight through lunch, he realized as a wave of dizziness rushed through his head. He had about an hour before the other two detectives would be over at Sacred Heart, which was just enough time to grab a sandwich and meet with Mark and his sister before they got there.

  His favorite cafe was packed to the brim with people, but he managed to make his way to the front, place his order and secure a spot in the very corner of the patio. Ben's nerves were raw, and the idea of having to confront Mark, to listen to another insane story of Judas Iscariot and immortality and God was almost too much for Ben to handle.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone began to buzz violently against his chest. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and looked at the caller ID. It was a California number, a Southern California area code, and he figured it was one of the detectives.

  “Stanford,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Detective Stanford, I'm not sure if you remember me. My name is Greg Asclepius, I'm the doctor treating the John Doe at San Diego Mental Health Hospital.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ben said, feeling a wave of unexplained panic rush through him. “How can I help you?”

  “I expect you received a visit from two rather brash detectives this week regarding John Doe going missing, yes?”

  Ben sighed. “Yes I have, though I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the case.”

  “I expect not,” Greg said. “I was merely wondering if you were on the case yourself, and if so, if you needed me to answer any quest
ions for you.”

  Ben frowned at the offer. It was extremely unusual, and he was too much of a pessimist to believe that this stranger was willing to offer private patient information for nothing. “I'm not on that specific case, no,” Ben said. “However, I have to ask you, is there any information you have not shared with the detectives on the case?”

  The doctor hesitated, giving it away almost instantly. “I'm afraid I don't trust them, Detective Stanford. This case, this John Doe, it's different, and it's delicate, and releasing the information I have to just anyone I believe would be a mistake.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” Ben asked suddenly. He was surprised at himself for even going down this road with a doctor he didn't know, but it was a possible lead, even if it was a shot in the dark.

  “Of course.”

  “Has there ever been an instance at your hospital, or any that you know of, where comatose patients have just gotten up and walked out of their beds?”

  There was a very long silence before the doctor answered. “It might be better if we meet, Detective Stanford. Is there a time in the near future where you might find yourself down here and we can talk?”

  There was a heavy weight to the doctor's tone that chilled Ben to the core. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could answer. “I think I can make time. I'm on a rather complicated case right now, and with these two detectives interrogating my sister on this John Doe case, it might take a little time.”

  “We don't have unlimited time, but we have enough,” the doctor said. His voice had changed slightly, though Ben couldn't quite put his finger on it. His intonation was just slightly different, his K's sharper and S's longer. “I will phone you sometime this week and we can set up a time. If it's any comfort to you, I can assure you your sister has not been on hospital property since the day you were here, so I don't believe the detectives will find anything on her.”

  The absolute sincerity of the doctor's voice gave Ben a sense of relief that was nearly physical. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and he found himself smiling. “Thank you, doctor. I'll be in touch soon.”