by Joshua Grove
Anna sat down as she watched the video. At first the screen was black, as if the camera was off. Without warning a video appeared, like someone had been sitting high up in a tree and recording the ground beneath the camera. A doe walked by, followed by her small offspring. Picking up on Anna’s slight impatient shuffle in her chair, Sheriff Kelly laughed.
“Keep watching, Anna,” he instructed. She nodded. Suddenly the doe disappeared from the camera’s view. Anna noticed that the camera was not stationary, and as it moved she could hear its buzz as it shifted position. The small fawn’s tail became erect, her body frozen in terror. Then, just like its mother, the fawn simply vanished.
Anna sat back in her chair, incredulous. “What can you deduce from this video?” she asked.
“Well, nothing when you watch it in real time,” he noted. “But when you slow down the video...” He rewound the tape to just before the event. Then, in slow motion, Anna watched in horror as a large, make-shift noose was thrown around the deer’s neck and then heaved off camera. Anna gasped. Then, a smaller noose snatched the fawn.
“But how?” Anna asked.
“That’s the million dollar question,” the sheriff remarked.
“No one is that fast. Or strong,” she insisted.
“Then how do you explain it?” he pushed.
“The camera must have malfunctioned. I don’t understand how any person could have pulled a full grown deer off her feet and out of the purview of the camera.”
“I agree that no human could do that,” he said.
Anna didn’t like the look of grim resolution she saw on his face. Grasping at straws to make sense of what she just saw, she laughed nervously.
“Surely you aren’t saying that an animal was able to do that?” Anna said.
“I did not say any such thing,” he retorted. “Anna, I believe you have great promise. I see you taking my job one day. You were born and raised here and people respect you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“First thing you need to remember in this job is that there ain’t much in this world that’s impossible.”
“But unlikely, for sure,” Anna said.
“Yes, unlikely,” he repeated as he stared at the smoke from his pipe. “But not impossible.”
“So you showed me this tape to teach me that the impossible is possible? I’m not sure I follow.”
Sheriff Kelly laughed, his stomach jiggling like Santa Claus. “What you need to follow, Anna, are your instincts. What would you have done if you had viewed this footage when it occurred?”
“I would have checked it out.”
“Alone?”
“Certainly not,” she said.
“How many?”
“One, maybe two others,” she guessed. He shook his head. “How many then, Sheriff?”
“I took ten.” She studied his expression, confident he was joking. “Anna, if you see a large animal pulled off its feet with a man-made weapon in a fraction of a second, I think you and your one officer would be in a shit-heap of trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“I don’t want your agreement or subservience, Anna. I need your understanding.”
“I understand, Sheriff.”
“Good, then,” he said. As he put out his pipe, he looked up at Anna with haunted eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit, pardon my language,” he whispered. “And if it’s one thing I’ve learned in almost forty years of service, it’s that you learn to trust your gut.”
“Of course, Ron,” she agreed. “And what did your gut tell you that day?”
“I took ten men with me to check it out. What do you think my gut said?”
“What did you find?” she finally asked, almost not wanting to know.
“What do you think we found, Anna?”
“I think you found the deer with their necks broken and unusual bite marks.” His expression convinced her she was right.
“And ever since that day, we have been waiting for the murderer to strike again,” he said.
“Do you think he will?”
“Let’s just say that those who do great – and terrible – things get bored easily.” Sheriff Kelly stood up and motioned for her to join him. “Enough small talk, Anna. Let’s get back to the law and order of Crimson Falls.”
Now in his eighties, Sheriff Kelly had just left for Florida the previous week. Anna missed her mentor, but figured he was enjoying some well-deserved time in the sunshine.
“Mom!” Trevor’s shouting jolted Anna back to the present.
“What?” she cried.
“I was talking to you and it was like you were in another world.”
“I’m sorry, Trevor,” she said earnestly.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So where were you?”
“Someplace I hope we don’t have to go again.”
“True that,” he laughed. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“What the hell just happened?”
“Language,” she whispered. She put her arm around his shoulder and helped him into the car.
CHAPTER TWO
Interrogations
1
As Jake O’Reilly pulled away from the crime scene, he shook his head in disgust.
“A bunch of freakin’ idiots,” he mumbled to himself. Jake had been born and raised in Crimson Falls, and was an avid hunter. How could they not have recognized human footprints? Jake also thought himself above most people. Most of the townsfolk were simple and arrogant, with no real reason to be proud of themselves. As he drove toward St. Mark’s to question Father Matthew McMillan, he wondered if the town would support him in a bid against Anna for sheriff next year.
The church was across town from the Brickton estate, but still only a distance of about five miles. He passed a few rundown sawmills, most of which had closed their doors and migrated to the Pacific Northwest for greener pastures. The majority of houses in town were clumped together in three large neighborhoods at the center of town. Jake’s father had been a lumberjack, working sixteen hour days for the Brickton family before they sold most of their businesses. Alan had been the last remaining Brickton in Crimson Falls, although there had been rumors that he had a brother who had been given up at birth. Jake figured that there had been an affair, and Alan Brickton, Sr., had forced his lover to give the child up for adoption.
F’ing rich people, Jake thought to himself. He waved to a few pedestrians as he made his way toward the church. As in many small towns in America, St. Mark’s sat on the hill, quietly watching over its residents. It was the first building you would see when driving into town via the main road, long before reaching the streets that were lined with modest, working class houses. It was as if the lights of St Mark’s welcomed you home. Although most people were Lutheran and attended St. Paul’s down the hill and across the street, a sizeable Catholic population had grown throughout the decades. Jake was one of those Catholics.
He pulled into the parking lot of the church and walked into the small administrative building that also housed Father McMillan and his two Dobermans. As he walked down the hall toward the offices, the priest appeared in the hallway with a wide smile. Standing almost 6’7, Jake thought Father Matthew could intimidate people if he felt the urge. But the black suit and Roman collar made him more approachable. Not to mention the fact that Jake used to enjoy making fun of Matthew when they were kids.
“Well, Mr. O’Reilly! How nice to see you,” Father Matthew welcomed.
“Hi, Father.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you at mass,” Father Matthew grinned.
“Right, I’m sorry,” Jake said. It irritated him to no end when priests got all high and mighty, using guilt trips so they can make money for the Church. He looked down at Father Matthew’s shoes. Sure enough, there were small traces of mud along the sides at the bottom.
“No worries, no worries,” Father Matthew said, leaning down to look Ja
ke in the eye. “I can’t imagine you’re here for the finance committee meeting.”
Jake wondered if the priest was getting nervous. “No, Father, I’m not. Can we talk in your office for a moment?” The joy faded from the priest’s face when he realized it was serious. Jake enjoyed using his authority as a police officer. He eyed the priest for any signs of paranoia. People acted strangely when they know they’ve been caught. So far the priest seemed normal. But Jake knew that looks could be deceiving, especially with anything involving religion.
As Father Matthew led Jake into his office, he closed the door behind them and showed Jake to a couch across from an overstuffed leather chair. The priest fell heavily onto the chair with a sigh.
“So what can I do for you, officer?”
“Alan Brickton is dead,” Jake said with very little inflection.
Surprise covered Father Matthew’s thin face. Although only in his early forties, Jake thought he looked old and tired. Probably from not getting laid, Jake thought to himself with a chuckle. The priest looked at him almost coldly, probably wondering why Jake was laughing.
“Are you serious?” Father Matthew asked.
“Do you think I would joke about such a thing?” Jake asked, somewhat insulted.
“Of course not,” he answered, though a confused look remained on his face. “Well I didn’t know Mr. Brickton very well. If I am not mistaken, Pastor Amy visits him once a month or so and takes him communion, and I am pretty sure you are aware of this. Why aren’t you speaking with her? She would be the one to assist with the funeral arrangements.”
Jake leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not here about that, Father.” He liked making suspects feel uncomfortable.
“Okay,” Father Matthew said. “It seems to me you’re here on official business. Why don’t you just tell me what it is you need from me?”
“Well, I have a few questions,” Jake said, frustrated that the priest didn’t seem even remotely shaken.
Father Matthew leaned back in his chair. “Then ask them.” Although jovial and said to be one of the funniest men in town, the priest had an unrivaled poker face.
“Can you account for your whereabouts today?”
Father Matthew actually laughed out loud, surprising Jake. “Jacob O’Reilly, are you asking me if I have an alibi?”
“Um, why? Do you need one?” Jake was caught off guard by his priest’s candid speech.
Father Matthew began laughing again. “I’ve been here all day with the Loving Hands Women’s Quilt Group. We have been making blankets to send to the troops overseas.” He leaned forward in his chair, mimicking Jake’s actions from only a moment ago. “You are aware that your nephew William is in Afghanistan?”
Jake’s face turned three shades of red, nearly matching the color of his hair. “How dare you!” he said loudly.
Father Matthew held his hands up in protest. “Now, now, Jake. I mean no disrespect. I only mean to say that your sister and mother have been here with me. In fact, your mother brought her famous green bean casserole. She is still in the Social Room if you would like to speak with her.”
Jake sank into his chair. “No, Father, that won’t be necessary.”
“Jacob, what’s happening here? You seem angry with me. It is not my intention to upset you. What’s troubling you?”
Jake deliberated. Did he really want to talk to a priest again after all these years? His gut told him that Father Matthew was genuine. His mother, the rest of his family, and come to think of it, everyone he knew had only positive things to say about him. He decided to take a leap of faith, something he wasn’t used to doing.
“Father, we’re not sure what happened today. To be honest, I think Anna is in over her head.”
Father Matthew looked at Jake, making him feel as though he was peering into his soul. “Is that really your concern?”
“What do you mean?” Jake asked.
“I get the impression that you have deep feelings for her. I am not making any assumptions about those feelings, but they seem conflicted.”
Jake wondered how the priest could have possibly known about his feelings for Anna. Sure, if he ran against her and took her job it would complicate things. But he believed that deep down Anna just wanted a man to take care of her and her children. God knows Trevor needed a firm hand. Anna wouldn’t need to work anymore. He became so lost in thought that he forgot to answer Father Matthew.
“Jake? I’m sorry to pry, but it seems there’s something you need to say.”
Against his better judgment, and certainly against what Anna would want, Jake unloaded his concerns onto the priest as if he were in a confessional booth. Father Matthew listened intently, sometimes holding up his hand and motioning for Jake to pause. After a few seconds of deep thought, he would have Jake continue the story. When he had finished, Jake immediately regretted telling the story.
“This is all confidential, Father.”
“Of course, Jacob.”
“I mean it. Just like confession.”
“I understand.”
“If you say a word to anyone, I will arrest…” but Father Matthew cut him off by raising a large hand at him, a little too close for Jake’s comfort.
“I get it,” he pushed back. “I am aware of the parameters of confidentiality.” He walked toward the door, indicating to Jake that he was done with the conversation. Although Jake admired the priest’s fortitude, he was irritated with his presumptive attitude.
“I’m not finished yet!” Jake insisted.
“I didn’t say you were,” Father Matthew said as he continued through the door and into the general office where his secretary, 78-year-old Martha Miller, was busy working on Sunday’s bulletin.
“What else can I do for you?” Father Matthew said as he turned to face Jake again. “I have a meeting in a half hour and I need to crunch some numbers. If you like, I can come to the station in a few hours and we can talk in more detail.”
Jake shifted uncomfortably. He knew Anna would be able to tell if the priest knew any information he shouldn’t have known.
“No, Father, that won’t be necessary. If I think of anything else I will be sure to stop by and see you.” Jake put his thumbs in his belt, grazing his gun as he did so. Intimidation always worked. Well, almost always. Father Matthew watched him and observed his stance. A wry smile formed on the priest’s wise face. He straightened his Roman collar with his thumbs. His point was clear to Jake. Both men nodded to each other as Jake brushed past him to leave.
“Oh, and Father?” Jake said as he paused in the doorway.
“Yes, Jacob?”
“My name is Jake.” Jake sniffed and walked through the office. Martha Miller stared at him, shaking her head.
As he stepped into his cruiser, Jake took one last look at St. Mark’s. He considered visiting his mother, confident that the damned priest would tell her he had been there.
Something about that priest pissed him off. Believing that most priests were always hiding something sinister, he decided he would keep an eye on him.
* * * * * *
2
Father Matthew watched through the window of the office as Jake pulled away in his cruiser. He had never liked Jake very much. In fact, Jake had made the first sixteen years of his life pretty miserable.
“Matthew is ten feet tall and can’t even play basketball!” Jake had taunted in junior high. “You look like a Sasquatch! Do you know what that is, retard?” And all the kids had laughed.
“I’ll be here all week!” Matthew chortled in disgust.
He continued to look out the window, scanning the sky and feeling a chill. Winter was coming, and Matthew knew it was starting again. He remembered being sixteen, finding his hermit father dead in the backyard. Sheriff Kelly had told the family that he drank himself to death. Truth be told, it could have happened. His father had left them and lived on the old Brickton estate in a shack about a half-mile into the woods. The sheriff said he must have wandered
around town drunk and ended up in their yard, trying to find shelter in a snowstorm.
But Matthew had known better. He was the one who found his body only moments after he died. He also saw that the back of his father’s neck had been gnawed by some massive animal. When he told Sheriff Kelly about it, the sheriff said he had struck it on a rock or something after he had collapsed. Matthew also told the sheriff about the large footprints in the snow, but since they had been covered by additional snowfall by the time the cops arrived, no one believed him.
For days after his father’s death, he would stare out his window and into the trees that lined the back of his yard. Several times he was absolutely sure someone was watching him. Desperate to find the answers the cops couldn’t seem to find, he put a motion sensor spotlight on the garage that stood in front of the trees in the yard. After his mother and brothers would go to bed, he’d stare out the kitchen window, watching and waiting. Finally, two weeks to the day after his father died, he saw movement in the trees. It triggered the sensor and light flooded into the trees. Matthew clutched the curtains in his hand as he watched in horror. The upper body of a tall, lanky figure was standing behind a bush and staring directly at him. It pointed at him, then turned and ran at lightning speed into the woods.
Scared shitless, Matthew called the cops. By the grace of God, Sheriff Kelly actually answered the phone.
“Sheriff Kelly! Thank God! I need someone to come to the house! There’s someone in the backyard and I think it’s the killer!”
“Now son, your teenage imagination is running wild. It makes sense that you would see things so soon after your father died,” Sheriff Kelly lectured.
“No, sir, you don’t understand! I saw it!”
“Don’t you mean you saw ‘him’?” the sheriff corrected.
“No, sir, I mean it,” Matthew said defiantly. “Even if it’s human, it has to be pure evil with a face like that!”
The sheriff actually laughed. “Young man, you sound like the clergy. A noble profession. If you want to fight demons, Mr. McMillan, become a priest. Leave the police work to the professionals.” Then he hung up on Matthew.
