Trinity of Darkness: The Darkness Unbound Collection

by Glenn Porzig

  ***

  "Mike, you've got to let me have this story," the attractive blond reporter pleaded with her news director. Vicki Taylor was thirty-seven years old. As a female on-air personality in the television news business, thirty-seven was on the verge of being ancient. She should have been an anchor at a big network by now, but things had slowed down after a very promising start.

  Mike Newell was used to dealing with pushy television personalities, or "talent" as they're called. After decades of working in the news gathering business he still chuckled to himself when he heard them referred to as that. In his late fifties he had pretty much seen it all.

  "You know how this works. Caroline was working the daybreak shift when the call came in. It's her story. I can't just pull her off it."

  "Mike, I need this. You know what this story means to me."

  "Vicki, I realize you think this is related to your big story... but I think you may be jumping to conclusions. Just slow down and we'll see where it goes." Mike was shuffling papers the whole time, only looking up to punctuate his statement.

  Vicki wasn't about to be dismissed, not when it came to her career.

  "I'll hold off for now, but when the details come out and I'm proven right... I expect you to back me on this." She defiantly walked out of his office and past the assignment desk to find her photographer.

  Nearly fifty years old, Andrew Zahler was no stranger to the newsroom. He had started in the tape room and worked his way up through many different positions. The last few years he had been assigned to work with Vicki.

  "Andrew, I want you to get a copy of any video shot at the crime scene from this morning. Start putting together some B-roll, and dig up the files from my big story, that family that was murdered... has it really been thirteen years?"

  "Thirteen fun-filled years," Andrew smirked as he headed past her towards the tape file room. It had been a few years since he had seen it, but everyone in the station was familiar with the award-winning story of the murder of the Carver family that had made Vicki Taylor a household name... at least locally.

  ***

  Sister Marian's hands trembled as she slowly dialed the number. She hadn't spoken to him in years. She knew he didn't want to hear from her, but she couldn't handle this alone. She needed to hear a familiar voice.

  "Hello?"

  She paused for a moment, glad to hear his voice again, but knowing she was about to cause him pain.

  "Hello? Who is this?" asked the man on the phone.

  "Jamie, it's me. I know you didn't want me calling you, but just..."

  The line went dead. She sat there holding the phone for a few moments before slowly hanging it up. She understood his reluctance to get involved, but that didn't make it any easier to handle it all on her own.

  That left her with only one option. There was only one other person left alive that would understand—that knew what she was going through—what she had been through.

  She needed to contact Alex, and see if he knew the details on the case from her visions. Picking up the phone again, she looked through her address book to find his number. The call went straight to his voice-mail.

  "Alex, it's Marian. I know you're probably busy, but I really think we need to talk. Call me."

  ***

  Detective Drake had been too busy to answer his phone. It had been a long day, and it was far from over. He had left the crime scene, and was at the precinct for a meeting. The tension in the room was palpable.

  "Everyone listen up!" bellowed Police Chief Underwood to a room full of tired officers. Underwood had been with the department since he was a rookie and he had worked his way up the hard way. Now he was in his late fifties, and worried that someone younger would be brought in if things didn't go smooth on his watch.

  These days, it seemed to be all politics and public relations. He knew the score. Shit rolls down hill. The chief position made for an easy fall guy if the Mayor wanted to look good.

  "I want answers, and I expect them as soon as possible. What I don't expect, is to be learning new details on the evening news! You find something, you bring it to me. Anyone that leaks anything to the media will be answering to me personally," he blared at the room full of officers.

  "Hawbaker Heights is a nice neighborhood. The Reids were a nice family. Their son, Matt, was a high school quarterback. Mrs. Reid was a Sunday school teacher for Christ's sake! This is the American Dream that's under attack here people! No one will feel safe again until we get this killer off the streets!" He slammed down his clipboard to punctuate his point.

  "Still, bear in mind that this is a sensitive matter. The last thing we want to do is cause a panic. I don't want to hear any talk of the Occult, or anything Satanic. And another thing, I don't want anyone using the term 'serial killer'. This is an isolated incident until we learn differently." The chief straightened his tie and then dramatically pointed at the door.

  "Now get off your asses and go get me a bad guy!"

  Detective Drake knew the chief meant what he said, word had already spread that everyone was going to be pulling double shifts until this crime was solved. Their department's murder solve rates were already dismal, a fact that didn't need to be repeated.

  Before he could make it out of the meeting room the chief called out to him.

  "Drake, you stay here. We need to talk."

  Nobody wanted to be singled out by the chief, especially today. Everyone else hurried their pace to leave before they were asked to stay as well. Drake waited until the room had cleared then approached Underwood. He was pretty sure he knew what this was about.

  "Yeah, Chief?"

  "Don't give me that 'Yeah, Chief' shit. You know what I want to talk to you about. Looks like this is another of those freaky occult cases that seem to fascinate you. But beyond that, this one seems to bear a striking resemblance to another case that you worked on. If it weren't for your expertise on this stuff, I'd have you bow out of this one to avoid any potential conflicts."

  "Sir, I assure you, I don't foresee any conflicts on this. That other case was a long time ago... odds are they aren't even related," said Drake.

  "Okay, just know that I'm counting on your professionalism, and your discretion, on this case. Now get out there and work your magic."

  After his meeting with Underwood, the detective returned to his desk and collapsed into his chair to gather his thoughts. Noticing he had a voice-mail, he re-dialed the number without bothering to listen to the message.

  "I don't know if this is the best time for us to talk. I'll give you a call when I get back home. Sit tight, and try not to worry."

  Detective Drake put his phone back in his pocket and pulled out his badge. Bold letters engraved in gold spelling out DETECTIVE caught the light as he slowly turned it. He stared at it for a full minute before abruptly standing up and shoving it in his pocket. He grabbed his wrinkled jacket and headed out of the office with a brisk pace that belied his level of exhaustion.

  ***

  Sister Mary Francis had seen the news. She knew her friend would be needing her, and that's why she had gone to the Mother Superior and requested some time off for Sister Marian. She had also volunteered to take over her duties as long as the girl needed. She hoped that was the right thing to do.

  But maybe Marian needed to be kept busy, to keep her mind off of things? It was so hard to tell in these situations. She hoped she had made the right decision. Now she was looking for Marian to tell her. It was getting late, and she expected to find her in her room, but it was empty.

  She eventually found her in the common room pacing nervously.

  "There you are, I've been looking all over for you."

  "I'm just waiting for the evening news to start," Marian said while still pacing.

  Sister Mary Francis shook her head in worry over her friend's obsession. "I've spoken with the Mother Superior and she's agreed to give you a few personal days. I thought you might need a break... until things settle down."

/>   Sister Marian smiled at her friend. "That was very kind of you, I know I can always count on you watching out for me."

  "Oh, before I forget, I wanted to warn you that Mr. Calhoun has been sleeping in the alley behind the convent again."

  Don Calhoun was a vagrant that had been frequenting the neighborhood. Occasionally he would wander off for a week or so, but he always returned. Some of the sisters were disturbed by him lurking around after dark, but he had never been a problem.

  "Thanks, I'll be glad to know it's just him if I see someone out there," Marian said. She glanced back at the TV. "It looks like the news is starting. I'll see you in the morning."

  "You just try to get some sleep. I'll check in on you first thing," Sister Mary Francis said as she turned and walked down the dark corridor towards the stairs that lead to her room.

  ***

  Drake had called Sister Marian and asked her to meet him at Gypsy's, a local 24-hour diner. The place was pretty quiet as he sat and waited for her. The waitress wandered by and absentmindedly topped off his coffee a little too full. Hearing the door open he looked up to see Sister Marian entering. He stood to greet her.

  "Sister. It's been a long time."

  "Alex, so good to see you. I just wish it was under better circumstances," she gave him an awkward smile.

  The detective remained standing until she had seated herself on the bench across the table from him. She looked him over in his wrinkled suit, with his tired eyes, and his sleek dark hair that may, or may not, have been combed the day before.

  "You're looking a little tired," she said quietly.

  She actually thought his five o'clock shadow added to his rugged good looks, but she'd never tell him that.

  "I could say the same about you, but that wouldn't be polite," he retorted with a smirk.

  The waitress wandered by again.

  "Anything for you tonight... Sister?"

  Sister Marian declined with a shake of her head, and the waitress walked away.

  "I haven't seen you at Mass the last few weeks," she said.

  "You know how it is, seems like murder has become a daily occurrence, they've got me working night and day."

  "Everyone needs a day of rest, you can't keep pushing yourself."

  "You and I both know nobody on the force is getting any rest until this killer is caught," he stared down into his coffee.

  "How is Angela?" she asked.

  "She just got engaged, I think he's an accountant or something boring like that. I've met the guy, he seems nice enough. I guess she feels safe. I guess bringing his work home with him isn't a big deal," he continued looking into his steaming coffee.

  "I'm sorry you two weren't able to make it work," she said.

  "Maybe if I had cleaned up sooner. I guess the divorce was the wake up call I needed to get my life back in order. Maybe we could have made it work, if I had been an up and coming detective... instead of some drunken beat cop obsessed with the past." Drake lifted his eyes up to meet Marian's.

  "I miss him too, you know," he said in a hushed tone.

  "I know. I know, Father Martin was important to you too..." she said, as she wiped at her suddenly moist eye.

  "He took me in, when I was lost, gave me a real life... with a real family. Sure the foster system wasn't a picnic, but it was better than the alternative..."

  "I want to... no, I have to see it for myself," she blurted out.

  He had expected the request, just not so soon. He was staring at her now, he took a deep breath before answering.

  "Are you sure about this? It isn't pretty," his eyes drifted down to look at the grungy floor of the diner that was long overdue for a good mopping.

  "You know I am. Besides, I think I've already seen it... in my dreams."

  "Well, that's not creepy at all," he picked up his coffee, splashing the overflow on the table, and took a big gulp of the hot liquid.

  "Well, no time like the present!" Drake said as he tossed a few dollars on the table, sat his cup on top of them, and then made his way to the exit.

  ***

  A gentle breeze blew the yellow barrier tape that surrounded the house. That, and the police cruiser that sat out front, were both grim reminders that no one lived there any longer. It was a far different scene than earlier in the day, the chaos of the media had quieted down for now.

  Detective Drake's unmarked car pulled up and he got out. Sister Marian waited in the car while the detective spoke with the officer on duty. After he had approval, he waved for Marian to join him.

  As they walked up to the porch, he stopped and put his hand on her shoulder. "There's no way I can talk you out of this, is there?"

  "I've come this far... I have to know," she straightened her shoulders, bracing herself for what she was about to see.

  The detective opened the door for her and followed as she stepped in. The day had been so long it seemed like it happened a week ago, but it had only been a few hours since he had left the murder scene. They had waited until after one in the morning to make sure all of the eleven o'clock news crews had time to clear out.

  Marian took a few tentative steps forward, looking around like she was getting her bearings somewhere she hadn't been in a long time.

  "Over here, he came in through that window. It was left open," her voice was cold, emotionless, and she moved as if in a trance slowly into the kitchen.

  "That's right," he said, knowing what the preliminary police report contained.

  Once in the kitchen, she gestured toward the knife block on the counter. All of the knives were missing.

  "He took the knives... and went upstairs." She turned and walked towards the stairway.

  Slowly she walked up the stairs, knowing what she would find. Once again, the detective tried to spare her.

  "You've been through enough, you don't have to go on."

  But she pushed on, continuing up the stairs that creaked loudly, each step echoing through the eerily quiet house. She reached the girl's room, but she didn't even stop to glance in. Instead she continued on to the boy's room.

  "He started here," she said, trying to hold back tears from the sudden flood of emotion, "like last time."

  ***

  THEN

  Thirteen years ago. A rookie officer, on his way home at the end of his shift, responded to a call. Neighbors had reported a disturbance. Officer Alexander Drake pulled up in his police cruiser to the average two story house.

  It was a cool, clear night. The full moon illuminated the house, but there was nothing to really see. Nobody arguing in the lawn, no drunken shouting. But the neighbors had heard something, and it was his duty to investigate.

  He called on the radio. "Dispatch, this is officer Drake, responding to the four fifteen. I've arrived at the residence, all appears quiet. I'll do a quick check of the premises before heading home for the night."

  Cautiously he exited his cruiser, pulling out his long black metal flashlight. He approached the front door and looked it over. There were no signs of forced entry. He pounded on the door.

  "This is the police." He waited a moment but didn't hear anyone inside. He pounded even harder, but still no signs that anyone was in distress.

  "Police, open up!" he said with authority, becoming convinced that the house may have been empty. That's when he heard it.

  A scream. It came from upstairs. He threw himself against the door, again, and then a third time with his full weight behind him. The door frame popped and splintered as it gave under his weight, and the officer burst into the living room.

  He gathered his senses and did a quick scan of the room. His flashlight illuminated the dark house with a faint beam culminating in a white circle. His department issued 9mm Beretta remained trained on that bright spot as it darted across the room.

  “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

  The living room showed no signs of a struggle. He glanced over and saw the staircase.

  "This is the police. I'm coming upstairs!
"

  Reasonably sure the ground floor was secure, he cautiously began making his way up to the second floor. His flashlight swept up ahead of him, piercing the darkness. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster as he inched up the dark stairs.

  The first room was empty, so he cautiously continued on. What he saw in the second room would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  ***

  NOW

  The lifeless body of the young man hung upside down, the arms and legs splayed out. Knives and screwdrivers were used to secure the body to the wall, shoved through the hands and feet at odd angles. The body had the appearance of a perverse inverted crucifixion. There was no mistaking this had been a ritual murder.

  Matt Reid's head hung limp, his throat slit from ear to ear. Blood streaked down the wall, and welled up in a large deep crimson pool that resembled a bloody halo for the head dangling above. Some of that blood had been used to smear a haphazard inverted pentagram around the body—the head, hands and feet each forming the point of a five pointed star.

  The scene was nearly identical to the one Drake had witnessed thirteen years ago. A young male, head nearly severed, dead from bleeding out. That would mean the next room would be the same as then as well. Detective Drake placed his hand on Sister Marian's shoulder to reassure her.

  "It's safe, you are safe. It's just you and me in here, and there's an officer just outside."

  "I know. I'm ready to see the other room now."

  "You know your vision was true, you don't need to..."

  His arm slid off her shoulder, and fell limply to his side, as she pushed past him and made her way towards the master bedroom.

  Marian stood in the entrance to the room, her hands braced on the frame of the door. Knowing what she was about to see did little to prepare her for the experience. Memories came rushing back, flooding over her. The memories intermingled with flashes of the visions from her dream, and the horror that was before her eyes. The experience took her breath away. If she had not been braced in the doorway she would have fallen.