Evil in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 2)

by Gary Williams

  Curt looked at the gun in Tolen’s hand. “You think it could be the same guys that ransacked the house?”

  “I’m going to go find out.”

  “You mean we’re going to find out.”

  “Stay behind me,” Tolen said, exiting the Mustang and closing the door quietly.

  Curt followed Tolen as he moved quickly toward the house, gun at the ready before him. Tolen adeptly scaled the porch stairs and reached the screen door almost without sound. The door behind it was partially open. Tolen stopped, obviously listening for any sounds coming from inside. Curt remained behind him. The house was quiet.

  Tolen slowly opened the screen door, and the two men entered the foyer. A wall-unit air conditioner was running and provided welcome relief from the humidity outside. Tolen stepped into the den on the right. Curt decided to go straight where a short hallway led to another foyer with stairs.

  After just a few steps, he spotted the slumped body at the base of the stairs.

  “Tolen,” Curt called out in a loud whisper.

  In an instant, Tolen was at his side, and the two men approached the body: a female with tanned skin and a shapely figure. She had long, dark hair with blonde streaks. Curt could see no blood or injuries. “Is she…dead?”

  Tolen knelt down beside the woman. “No, she’s breathing.”

  A pervasive odor hung in the air. “Then what’s that rancid smell?”

  Tolen touched the woman on the shoulder. She rolled over with a start, scrambling to a sitting position and backing into the lower step when she saw the gun in Tolen’s hand.

  “It’s okay,” Tolen said, “we’re not going to hurt you.” He holstered his weapon.

  The woman wiped the disheveled hair from her eyes, breathing heavily and eyeing the two men fearfully.

  Curt recognized the woman. “Fawn Cortez?”

  She swallowed hard and seemed to calm visibly. “Actually, it’s now Fawn Cortez-Roberson, Dr. Lohan,” she managed to squeak out.

  Tolen looked at Curt then directed his question to Fawn in a firm tone, “What are you doing in Lawton Sawyer’s house?”

  Fawn widened her eyes as if trying to shake the confusion from her mind. “I…I was following up on some information about the incident at the church last Friday where two people perished in a sink hole.” Her gaze turned stoic as if a bad memory had returned. “He’s up there. In the hallway. Lawton Sawyer. He was murdered. I was coming down the stairs after finding his body when I must have blacked out.”

  “Did you see who killed him?” Tolen asked.

  Fawn ran a hand through her tangled hair. She shook her head, no.

  “And you two know each other?” Tolen said looking to Curt.

  “Fawn’s a journalist in Fernandina Beach. I assisted her last year with a historical riddle. I know where you’re going with this Tolen. She’s no killer.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said, rising awkwardly. Curt gave her a hand up.

  Fawn looked at Tolen warily. Curt read the suspicion in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Fawn. This is Samuel Tolen. He’s CIA. I never leave home without a federal agent.”

  Tolen ignored Curt’s comment, as he was prone to do. “I’m going to check on the body.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Curt added. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need, but something told him to do so.

  “If it’s all the same with you guys, I’m going to wait right here on the bottom step,” Fawn said.

  Before she could react, Tolen had handcuffed Fawn’s wrist to the staircase.

  “Hey, what the heck?” Fawn protested.

  “Tolen, I just told you she’s not a killer,” Curt said.

  “Still, I don’t know her,” Tolen said calmly, ascending the staircase.

  Curt looked at Fawn apologetically. “We’ll be right back, and I’ll have Mr. Secret Agent uncuff you.”

  Fawn didn’t respond. She plopped down on the bottom stair.

  Curt followed Tolen. The stench became nearly intolerable by the time they reached the second floor and saw the body of Lawton Sawyer. Tolen seemed oblivious to the smell, kneeling beside the corpse. Curt walked up, nearly retching when he saw the bloodied cut lines criss-crossing the old man’s face and the cavernous gash inflicted upon the man’s neck. He covered his nose and mouth and settled back, allowing Tolen to examine the body.

  After a moment, Tolen turned to Curt. “This was a very brutal killing. An extremely large knife was used to nearly decapitate Lawton Sawyer, probably by the same men who trashed the riverhome where Scott is staying.”

  “But to what end? Who is doing this and what do they want?”

  “That is the question.”

  Curt noticed that, out of the three bedroom doorways in the hallway, the two on the right were open, but the one on the left beside the body was closed.

  “Tolen, that door.”

  Tolen turned. He rose and tried the handle. It was locked. He pulled a small piece of metal from his pocket, and, a second later, had it unlocked. Tolen turned the handle and pushed the door open, moving stealthily inside with his gun again drawn.

  Curt, reluctant to look at the corpse, slid along the wall until he reached the doorway, then stepped through.

  The room was not set up as a bedroom, but instead was being used for storage. There were dozens, no hundreds, of 5 x 7 framed pictures: portraits of men and women, leaning against the wall, stacked in no particular order. Some were black and white, some were in color, and they appeared to span decades, certainly some reaching back into the 1800s, if not earlier, given the attire.

  “These look familiar…” Curt began. The revelation struck him. “Damn! The Blue Council.”

  Tolen gave him a momentary sidelong look. He stared at one of the framed pictures near the corner, walked over to it, and picked it up. Examining it, he moved past Curt back into the hallway and lowered the picture beside Sawyer’s bloodied face. “This picture is Lawton Sawyer,” he said.

  “Geez, he’s a member of the Blue Council,” Curt could hardly believe his own eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Tolen said.

  Curt followed him down the stairs where Fawn was still sitting on the bottom step. With her one free hand, she had brushed her hair out, and appeared more composed. She looked up curiously as the two men came down, and said, “What’s going on? Why are you two even here?”

  “Fawn, it’s a long story,” Curt said, reaching her. Tolen uncuffed her.

  Tolen walked past them toward the den, stopped, and turned to Curt. “What do you know about the Blue Council? Frankly, I thought it was a mythical organization.”

  Curt paused, considering whether he should share what he and Scott had been through last year. They probably wouldn’t believe him, but what the hell. The time for secrets was over. Over the next ten minutes, Curt described the events from last August of the Fish and the secret society known as the Blue Council. He gauged the reaction on their faces—between Tolen and Fawn—especially when he got to the part about the Fish skeleton forming a live fish when submerged in fresh water. Tolen kept the same nonjudgmental gaze, which Curt found interesting, because the story sounded like fiction, even to him. Fawn, on the other hand, seemed less than convinced, with raised eyebrows and vacant stare as if she just realized Dr. Curt Lohan was quite insane.

  “Judging by the framed picture, you believe Lawton Sawyer was one of these Blue Council members?” Fawn said as she tried to catch up on the conversation.

  “Yes,” Curt responded.

  “This is getting weirder by the minute.”

  Tolen turned to Fawn. “Please explain what you’re doing here in detail. Take your time.” Tolen’s tone was demanding.

  “Lighten up, Tolen,” Curt felt compelled to come to Fawn’s defense.

  Tolen ignored him, instead staring at Fawn.

  �
�For the record, I’m not here pursuing a story. Several weeks ago, I received an email from a friend; a reporter in Tallahassee named Lindsey McSweet. There was no message on the email, just an attachment consisting of a one-page scanned document of handwritten notes. When I tried to contact her to ask her why she sent it to me, I was unable to reach her. For several days I called, leaving messages. I finally drove over to Tallahassee and checked with Lindsey’s editor at the paper, and she told me Lindsey had disappeared. She hadn’t heard from her in days. I reported her missing to the local police, but so far, she hasn’t turned up.”

  “What are the notes?” Curt asked.

  “The first few lines aren’t very detailed. They mention Cult of the End and The Scroll of Edict.”

  Curt saw a flash of familiarity in Tolen’s eyes.

  Fawn continued, “It also seemed to reference their intent. It said, Goal: Destroy TOL. I have no idea what that means, but find it coincidental, CIA agent, that your last name is Tolen.”

  Tolen seemed focused and didn’t comment. “Is that all the notes said?”

  “No,” Fawn continued, “there were two stanzas of text, for lack of a better description. They resembled song lyrics or a poem that doesn’t rhyme.” A look of understanding came over Fawn’s face. “Wait,” she said excitedly, turning to Curt, “you mentioned in your story about the Fish that it occurred last year when those two hurricanes bracketed Florida, and that the Fish transformed in fresh water?” That matches the first stanza of text in Lindsey’s notes. I don’t remember the exact wording, but I recall it talks about hurricanes and fresh water and the release of the first God Tool.”

  “God Tool?” Curt remarked in surprise. “Well, it did seem to trace back to Noah’s Ark.”

  “Noah’s Ark?” Fawn questioned.

  Curt nodded.

  Again, Tolen seemed unfazed by the comment. He directed his question back to Fawn, “That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here in Lawton Sawyer’s house?”

  “Because the second stanza in Lindsey’s notes mentioned a second God Tool. Specifically it said, ‘fresh water turning red signifies its release.’ I drove here from my home on Amelia Island on Saturday to investigate the spring turning red, since it seemed to correlate with the text. Then I became intrigued by the couple falling through the floor of the church around the same time. Lawton Sawyer was in the sanctuary when Jack and Tonya Turner were swallowed by the earth. I wanted to talk to him about what he saw.”

  Tolen spun away and looked up the stairway, deep in thought.

  Curt spoke, “Tolen, have you heard of this Cult of the End or Scroll of Edict?”

  He turned toward them slowly. “The Cult of the End is a doomsday sect. I only know they formed recently, within the last few years. They’re a gathering of people from other doomsday groups. Their philosophy is quite different, which is what drew them together. The Scroll of Edict is a fabled scroll. There’s no proof it exists or ever did. One rumor says that it was discovered several years ago while excavating Gobekli Tepe in Turkey but then vanished.”

  “What’s Gobekli Tepe?” Fawn asked.

  Curt answered for Tolen, “It’s an 11,000-year-old Neolithic sanctuary discovered in the mid-90s. It includes massive carved stones. It’s unique in that it was built during a time in mankind’s history when humans were thought to be hunter/gatherers and didn’t use permanent structures because of their nomadic nature.”

  Tolen spoke. “Dr. Lohan, I don’t think it’s a wise idea to go back to the riverhome. If the Cult of the End is after something that they think you still have, you won’t be safe there. If they are behind the killings, you’ve seen their proclivity for violence first hand. I think we should convene at my house.” He turned to Fawn. “I live on the north end of town. You can follow us.”

  Fawn seemed hesitant. “Knowing I’m a reporter, you’re going to take me into your confidence?”

  “It was your friend who left you the notes, and she’s missing. Your motives seem sincere. Am I correct?”

  Fawn nodded. “We have to call the police. Lawton Sawyer has been murdered.”

  “Involving local authorities at this point will only slow us down. Our DNA and fingerprints are now all over this house. We don’t have time to spend hours explaining what happened and how we all happened to be here.”

  Fawn exhaled.

  Curt thought she was going to push; take the high road and argue that it was their moral responsibility to notify police. Instead, she surprised him and Tolen with her next comment: “Yeah, I guess you’re right. They’ll want to know why I was at two crime scenes where people were killed on two consecutive days.”

  “Second crime scene?” Tolen asked.

  “Two brothers who lived along Trout Creek: Rufus and Reggie Tinney. Rufus disappeared, but I watched Reggie get knocked into the creek and something…got him.” She shuddered. “The next thing I knew, his steaming organs were landing on the dock all around me. It was horrible.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Scott tried calling Kay on her cell and on the home phone every five minutes on the drive back to Jacksonville. With the riverhome ransacked, his concern escalated for Kay’s, Cody’s, and Tina’s safety. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

  Scott reached his house at the southern end of Jacksonville. It was late afternoon on a Monday, and most of the residents were at work, including the couple who had collected the Marks’ mail over the last few days. Somewhat of a relief was that Kay’s car was not in the driveway. The simple answer was that she was out somewhere with the kids and her cellphone battery had died.

  At least he prayed that was the case.

  Scott parked in the driveway and quickly walked to the door. The porch light was still on.

  That’s strange, he thought. He knew Kay and the kids had reached the house last night. She had called him. She must have forgotten to turn it off.

  Scott’s stomach tightened as he put the key in the front door and found it already unlocked.

  He swallowed a hard knot, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  “Kay, are you here?”

  There was no response, or any indication they had been to the house. Everything was as they had left it. Scott checked the kitchen, living room, and den. He saw no purse, none of Cody’s or Tina’s toys lying about. It was as if they had never come home, yet the door had been unlocked.

  He went upstairs, but the house was completely empty. Scott went back downstairs, scribbled a quick note that he left on the counter, and was out the door.

  CHAPTER 43

  The Fish’s compulsion for violence and carnal feeding continued to push it upriver. Driven by a primal directive it did not comprehend, it swam even faster. The salinity continued to weaken, and it forged ahead with renewed vigor. It was approaching a section of the river where an ancient fluid had been released. The Fish could smell it, taste it. Oddly familiar, the sensation triggered a new yearning. It was now compelled to find the source, to lock its teeth into this unique victim, to end any threat it might present. It would be an epic meal that would last to eternity.

  Once and for all, the Fish would know the utter contentment of being sated.

  CHAPTER 44

  It was mid-afternoon when they arrived at Tolen’s house. Curt’s mind was whirling with questions. “Tolen, at Lawton Sawyer’s house, you mentioned the Cult of the End was a unique doomsday cult, assembled from other apocalyptic groups. You said their philosophy is quite different. In what way?”

  “The Cult of the End believes that God does not interfere with the natural course of things. When an apocalyptic event occurs, it will be of mankind’s own doing. Instead of bracing for things to turn bad, the Cult of the End believes they can proactively take matters into their own hands.”

  “What good will that do them?” Fawn asked. “If the apocalypse comes,
no one’s going to escape.”

  “That’s where the Scroll of Edict comes in. Again, there’s no proof that it exists. If it does, it’s thought to be a guide for mankind’s continued existence. Think of it like a business continuity plan similar to what companies and corporations prepare in the event of a disaster such as an earthquake, tornado, or hurricane. The plan allows the business to continue operating, usually at back-up sites, until the primary facility is usable again. The Scroll of Edict is said to be a continuity plan for humanity.”

  “So how does the scroll tie into the cult?” Curt asked.

  “The Cult of the End is a small group, relatively new, and up until now has steered clear of the law. Because they are not perceived as a threat, no one has worried about securing intel on their activities. I’m just speculating, but if the scroll exists; if they have it in their possession and believe its content to be accurate, then they may proactively be trying to invoke the plan.”

  “That would imply an apocalyptic event is forthcoming,” Fawn said with a twinge of apprehension.

  Tolen nodded his concurrence. “Or, they believe they can cause it.”

  “Do you think they may be the ones who killed Lawton Sawyer?” Curt asked.

  “Yes, and it appears that Monty Jackson, his wife, and Lawton Sawyer may have been killed by the same violent man, given the large knife that was used on each,” Tolen paused. “What’s confusing is most doomsday cults are religious in nature. They’re wary of their actions and follow God’s rules so that, when the time comes, they’ll reach heaven. If the Cult of the End is responsible for the Jacksons’ and Sawyer’s heinous deaths, it doesn’t make sense. It’s almost as if they’re acting in a manner without regard to repercussions in the hereafter.”

  The room was quiet.

  “Fawn,” Curt began, “why did you go to visit the Tinney brothers on Trout Creek? Were they also at the church on Friday?”

  “Yes, something happened at that church; something I believe is connected to Lawton Sawyer. Out of the people in the sanctuary that day, a number of them have gone missing or are dead.” She retrieved the list from her pocket. “So far, the list includes Joe Redman, Rufus and Reggie Tinney, Jack and Tonya Turner, and of course, Lawton Sawyer. I spoke to the preacher, Reverend Reed, and he told me Lawton Sawyer was sitting in the pew when the Turners disappeared.”