Evil in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 2)

by Gary Williams

  He knew it was somewhat immature, the dream of every male adolescent brimming forth, but he couldn’t help smiling. He and his father had taken a worn and decrepit machine and restored it back into a finely tuned work of perfection. Many times, when Tolen had wanted to take short cuts in the rebuilding process, Jaspar had not allowed him. Tolen was glad. The patience had paid off, and the result was undeniable.

  He revved the engine once, then twice, igniting the engine each time as gas was fed through the dual carburetors. His seat vibrated, as if adrenaline was being pushed through the length of the chassis below him. If ever a car had felt alive, Tolen mused to himself, this is it.

  Without further ado, he shifted into reverse and eased it out of the garage and down the driveway. When he reached the road, he turned right, threw it into drive, and accelerated. The back tires barked on the pavement, pushing the Camaro down the road like a shot.

  A minute later, Tolen turned left onto Highway 17. He crossed Governor’s Creek and into the downtown area of Green Cove Springs, where the highway takes the name North Orange Avenue. The car performed beautifully, and Tolen had to watch his speed driving through the heart of town. Without air conditioning, perspiration was already rolling down Tolen’s face. It was a mild discomfort he was willing to sacrifice.

  When he reached Ferris Street, he turned right. Ten minutes later, leaving the last vestiges of town, the road ambled through the countryside, and Tolen kept watch in his rearview mirror for the car that had been following him since he left his neighborhood. It was a tan sedan, a Saturn with tinted windows. It kept its distance, but even so, Tolen could tell there was at least one other person inside beside the driver. The route he had taken to exit town was a common one. His intent was to find a long, empty side street where he could open up the Camaro.

  His plans had just changed.

  Tolen came up to a rural side street, and whipped a righthand turn onto it at the last second, screeching the tires. He mashed the accelerator, and the car lurched forward racing up the deserted road. He watched in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, the tan sedan turned off the main road and followed him. The car didn’t seem to try and keep up, and, within seconds, Tolen had stretched the distance between the two cars. The sedan was barely a dot in his rearview mirror. He followed a bend in the road and, while out of sight to the other car, came to a sliding stop. Tolen backed the car down a dirt road that led to several houses. Having grown up in the area, he was intimately familiar with the vast interconnecting roads that spanned the countryside.

  Tucked in the narrow dirt road, wedged between tree cover, he waited, allowing the Camaro to idle with a low rumble. The sedan came streaking by. The driver had picked up speed after losing sight of Tolen.

  That was all he needed to know.

  Tolen slammed down on the gas pedal and wheeled the car back onto the road in pursuit of the sedan. The Camaro fishtailed, blue smoke billowing up from the spinning tires. When the car achieved traction, it rocketed ahead, the engine roaring. Tolen straightened the wheel and closed quickly on the vehicle ahead.

  The sedan suddenly whipped around, stopped, and accelerated, now heading straight for Tolen.

  They were on a collision course.

  Tolen and the Camaro continued to cover ground relentlessly. The two cars neared in an instant. A man leaned out of the passenger window of the sedan holding a pistol. The windshield of the Camaro popped on the passenger side, spider webbing the glass, pierced by a bullet. Tolen never let up speed. In the last millisecond before the two cars impacted, the other vehicle jerked to the left. Tolen slammed on the brakes of the Camaro as the sedan flew by, barely missing him. He turned to see the vehicle flying wildly off the road. It careened into a patch of pine trees and underbrush and came to an abrupt and violent stop. A body was ejected from the car, launching through the windshield, where it landed out of sight in the brush.

  Tolen spun the Camaro around in a hard turn, wheels squealing, and came to a sliding stop. He leapt from his vehicle, and unholstered his Springfield, moving toward the still car. The engine had died, and there was no movement from what he could tell. The stench of oil clouded the air. The front end of the Saturn was crumbled from its impact with the trees. Steam poured from the engine. Inside the car, Tolen saw the body of the driver, a man, slumped toward the passenger seat. He tried to open the door, but the frame of the car was bent and caused the door to bind. He studied the man through the gaping hole in the front windshield. He was not breathing.

  With his gun at the ready, Tolen stepped in front of the car, trudging into the underbrush until he found the second man. His contorted body had come to rest against another tree, where he was propped with his back at the base, his face bloodied and gashed. Tolen reached down, felt for a pulse, and found nothing. His neck had probably been broken when he was thrown through the windshield. Tolen wiped the sweat from his brow and studied the man. He did not recognize the man, who was definitely not a local.

  Tolen went back to the car and tried the passenger door. It, too, was stuck due to the warped frame, but he was able to manhandle it open. He searched the glove compartment and found it empty, then he searched the driver and found him without a wallet or any other identification.

  Tolen had been targeted before, but usually he knew why. Whoever these two men were and whatever they wanted was a complete mystery.

  Tolen left the car and returned to the body against the tree. Standing over him, he noticed that the crown of the man’s bloodied head was missing a chunk of hair, exposing a patch of skin, the result of either the expulsion through the windshield or impact with the tree. Then something else caught his eye. He leaned down and slowly pushed the man’s head forward to get a better look.

  Although he couldn’t read what it said, the tattooed writing was undeniable.

  Tolen stood and called Tiffany Bar.

  CHAPTER 27

  Fawn couldn’t shake the image of Jack Turner’s organs on the video monitor. The juicy, pink remains piled on the cavern floor looked like something from a slaughterhouse. Fawn was no coroner, but she was positive there was no way a sink hole could do that to a man’s body, and the fact that all they found in the cavern were human organs—no bones—made it identical to what was recovered of Clarence Little at Spring Park.

  With the list she had obtained from Reverend Reed, Fawn was now on her way to visit the Tinney brothers. Reggie and Rufus Tinney were crab fishermen who lived on Trout Creek, across the river. She was anxious to hear their firsthand account of what had happened. It was clear something more was in play than a natural disaster, and her instincts told her that, somehow, the bizarre incident was tied to Lindsey McSweet’s disappearance.

  The Tinney brothers, both in their mid-forties, lived on a dirt road off State Road 13. Even with the address, finding it was a challenge. The rural roads were poorly marked or not marked at all and gave her GPS fits. Fawn wound through the woods and twice had to backtrack. By the time she found their address on a mailbox at the edge of the winding, dirt driveway, civilization was long past.

  “Welcome to the country, Fawn,” she said aloud.

  She drove down the driveway as the car’s shocks tried in vain to absorb the bouncing of the deep ruts. Fawn felt as if her teeth were about to be bounced from her mouth. She passed a series of “No Trespassing” signs riddled with bullet holes—not a comforting sight.

  She slowed the vehicle to a crawl and eventually arrived at a cabin with a blue Ford pickup truck parked in front of a wooden rail. Fawn pulled beside it and parked, wondering if coming out here alone had been a bad idea. She found solace knowing that the Tinney brothers were church-going men who had volunteered for a food drive.

  At least she hoped they had volunteered, and it wasn’t court ordered.

  She stepped from the vehicle into the Florida humidity. Not far to the left, a swath of cleared land led to a short dock on a
narrow off-shoot of Trout Creek. A weathered 17-foot boat was tied to the dock by a single rope and stacked with several dozen crab traps.

  The cabin, more of a shack really, was in severe need of repair. Most of the exterior planks were rotted or had been whittled away by termites. The windows, while open, were covered with thick curtains. The front door, replete with a huge gash in the wood, was wide open. Must be their version of country air conditioning, Fawn thought.

  Again, she had reservations about being here. She steeled herself, and walked slowly toward the front door. There were no lights on inside, and it was deathly quiet. A lone couch was against the far wall. Before it, a coffee table was piled with fast-food wrappers and overflowing ashtrays.

  “Mr. Tinney? Are you home?” Fawn called out loudly, thinking back to the “No Trespassing” signs.

  Just as she reached the open front door there was a tremendous crash. It had come from one of the back rooms. It was followed by panicked voices and a blood-curdling scream. A deafening blast rocked the air.

  “Rufus! Oh, my God, Rufus!” she heard a man call out in terror.

  A second blast ensued, followed by another.

  Before Fawn could react, a man charged at her from inside the house. He passed by at a full gallop, clipping Fawn and sending her to the ground.

  “Mr. Tinney?” Fawn managed to call out, sprawled on the ground.

  Carrying a shotgun, the man raced from the house and headed toward the water. He briefly turned to Fawn with a look of absolute horror. “Get away! Get away from here!” He continued out onto the dock, pulled a knife from his belt and quickly severed the rope to the boat. He leapt from the dock to the boat, landing awkwardly and slamming into the center console.

  “What’s the matter? What happened?” Fawn called out, lifting herself from the ground. She was just about to turn and run toward him when she heard a terrifying series of clicks. They came from somewhere in the back of the house. The clicks were followed by the groaning sound of wood as the cabin began to rock. One of the windows shattered. The air around her suddenly felt superheated.

  The terror was mind numbing as she was momentarily lifted into the air and then thrown back to the ground harshly. She ached from the impact. Trembling, she looked up through the muss of her own hair in her face. The ground was bowing up, moving away from her, as if something were streaking just beneath the surface, creating a wave of earth.

  Tinney saw it, too. His eyes went wide. The burrowed line of earth reached the creek next to the dock and a massive swell of water spread out from shore. For a moment, Tinney froze. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, he turned the ignition, and the boat motor caught and flared up. He pushed the gear level forward.

  It was too late. A mighty surge from underneath lifted the craft upward. The boat vaulted a dozen feet into the air, spilling crab traps, oars, and Tinny into the water.

  Fawn ran toward the creek. To her astonishment, the boat had been split in half, both sections landing upside down in the water with a voluminous splash. She saw Tinney swimming frantically in the middle of the creek, where he took a deep breath and submerged. He returned a moment later holding his shotgun, but struggled to stay afloat while holding the weapon. He fired blindly into the water. “Take that, you bastard,” he screamed, firing again and again.

  Tinney let out a morbid scream and was sucked below the surface in a monstrous flush of water.

  Fawn moved onto the dock, searching for the man. The water had gone still. The only noise was her own labored breathing.

  The silence was broken when a series of clicks bubbled to the surface. Fawn was struck by a spray of water as something solid flew toward her. Instinctively, she ducked. The object barely missed her, skimming over the top of her head. She turned around to see liquid gobs raining down on the dock.

  Slop! Slop! Slop! Slop!

  More and more small pink pieces vaulted from the water and struck the dock with a slurpy smack. Each glob was covered with small bubbles, foaming and popping, sizzling grotesquely.

  Her mind momentarily seized in fear, unable to translate what was happening. One of the shimmering objects, no larger than the size of her fist, caught her eye. While the rest were still, this particular pink mass pulsated with a rhythmic precision that slowed, as if losing energy.

  She drew in a sharp breath as she realized it was a beating heart.

  Fawn turned and ran to her car without looking back. She started the engine and raced back up the dirt road, nearly careening into the woods as the tires violently drove through the ruts, sending the vehicle swerving with each harsh impact. When she reached State Road 13, she floored the car, pushing it to 90 miles an hour.

  CHAPTER 28

  It was 7:26 p.m. Six-year-old Cody Marks and seven-year-old Tina Falco sat cross-legged midway on the long dock pitching small pieces of bread into the water, one at a time. The bream and shiners were having a feast. It was high tide, and the sandbar was completely covered, leaving the small, wild fish plenty of room to gather for the free food. Feeding the fish had quickly become one of Cody’s favorite things to do at the river.

  Night was falling, but the surrounding water reflected the mild light from above, enhancing visibility. Five coots paddled slowly, not far from the end of the dock, occasionally submerging to reach for underwater vegetation. The wind came in easy bursts from the west, barely rippling the water.

  “Look,” Tina said excitedly, pointing to the sky. Above, an osprey majestically rode the moving air, graceful and strong. then dove, striking the water with a splash. It momentarily struggled to achieve flight as the large fish gripped in its talons tried to shake itself free. Once stabilized, the osprey lifted higher and flew over the treeline back on shore with its prey.

  “That was cool,” Cody declared.

  “I bet she’s taking that fish back to her nest,” Tina chimed in.

  The breeze played about Cody, his short hair unable to protect the skin underneath from tickling. Every few seconds he would run his hand over his head to scratch.

  Cody turned to look inland. His eyes followed the hundred rows of planks that reached to the backyard, where a bright green carpet of grass was pegged by oaks and pines. Beyond was the one-story, light-colored brick house where, inside, his mom was reading a book or watching television. He swiveled his head 180 degrees looking outward where the dock stretched over deeper water. Cody marveled at the length of the dock. It was the longest one he had ever been on.

  He thought he heard a noise, like the sound of a car engine. Maybe it was his dad and Uncle Curt returning. Then it was gone. He waited for the slamming of a car door, but it didn’t come; must’ve been someone else.

  “I’m out of bread,” Tina said.

  Cody’s mom had given each a sandwich bag with several slices of bread.

  “You want some of mine?” Cody offered.

  “Your mom said we could have more. I’ll go get us both another slice. I’ll be right back.” She rose and scampered off, moving down the long dock toward shore.

  Cody continued to parcel out small pieces of bread. The frenetic activity churned the surface of the water. Cody smiled, as if the bream were his own private pets he was feeding. Something about being at the river, the smell of the water, the sight of the wildlife, appealed to his senses. He loved it. He wished they could stay here all summer.

  Cody’s mom had given them explicit instructions not to go past the mid-point of the dock. Beyond that, the depth of the water dropped off quickly. She had advised Cody and Tina that if either one accidentally fell in here, all they’d have to do was stand up on the sandbar. Farther out, they would be over their heads.

  Cody couldn’t understand why his mom was so insistent. He wasn’t going to fall in. As he tossed another piece of bread into the water, he looked toward the end of the dock where the boat was raised on the lift underneath the tin roof hou
sing. If he could feed these little fish here in the shallow water, just think of the size of the fish he could feed at the end where it was deep.

  Cody stood. He looked back toward the house. Tina was still heading in, skipping across the backyard toward the house. His mom was busy somewhere inside. He would go out to the deep end, throw in a few pieces and see what ate it, then come back over the sandbar. No one would know.

  Cody slowly walked toward the end of the dock as the sunlight dimmed and the wind picked up.

  ****

  Kay lifted a glass cup beside the sink and pulled her engagement ring out of the cleaning solution. She eyed it with admiration. She had had it now for nine months, yet still couldn’t get over the size compared to the original ring. The one-carat diamond dwarfed the original quarter-carat stone Scott had given her the night he had proposed 15 years ago. Scott had replaced the setting with the larger diamond in September of last year, not long after his ordeal with Curt in St. Augustine. Kay still had a hard time believing the story as Scott had recounted it, and had even questioned Scott’s sanity. Yet, ultimately, she believed her husband, as she always had. A short time after Scott had returned from Bolivia—a trip that Scott said was too bizarre to explain—he had presented her with the replacement diamond for her engagement ring.

  She wasn’t the materialistic type; never had been. Yet the luster of the larger diamond was stunning, and she couldn’t deny the affinity she had for it. It represented the consummate bond of love. As she held it in her hand, studying it, she again wondered if a woman had ever loved her husband more than she loved Scott.

  Her cell phone rang. It was probably Scott letting her know they were on their way back to the river house. She looked at the display and, instead, saw that it was Sherri Falco.