Obadiah ran his hands over his shaven head, rubbing it vigorously before returning to stare at Thomas Jacques. “What the fuck’s going on? You’re dead.”
“If that’s true, then what does that make you?”
“Riddles? From a dead man. What the fuck, Tommy?”
Obadiah glanced quickly round the pub, expecting to see a sign that something was amiss, some indication that this was not supposed to be. But all he saw were the pubs few remaining customers finishing their meals and talking quietly, oblivious to the impossibility that was sat before him.
“This is insane.”
“This is insane? Let’s face it, you were one of the world’s most infamous serial killers, you’ve got more Google hits than Paris Hilton’s sex tape and were probably the most celebrated guests ever to grace Absolom and kindly take his place at the executioners table. Seems to me, this is probably the most normal thing ever to happen to you.”
“Normal? Nothing that’s happened to me from the moment I was executed has been normal, so my dead friend visiting me is par for the course. You here to tell me I’ll change at the next full moon, Jack Goodman?” Obadiah said with a chuckle.
Tommy frowned. “Jack who?”
“Never mind.”
“I’m not here to tell you you’re going to become a monster, Obi.”
Obadiah smiled a dark smile. “You don’t have to. I’m one already.”
“I know,” Tommy replied quietly.
“Okay then, why are you here?”
Tommy moved his chair closer. “Well, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but trying to explain to you my being here would be like trying to explain quantum mechanics to a slug. For the sake of simplicity, let’s pretend that you are down the rabbit hole, Alice, and that this weirdness is just the norm around here.”
Obadiah looked around the pub as though trying to ascertain if what he was seeing was real. No one was paying any attention to them, which either meant he was hallucinating or that Tommy was here and the two of them sat at the bar was perfectly normal. He turned back to his friend.
“Okay, assume for a moment that I can believe that I’m sitting in a pub in Ireland with the only person in my life I could have called a friend…who happens to be dead…what purpose could you have here?”
“I’m here to help you.”
“Help me with what?”
Obadiah studied his dead friend with unblinking eyes, looking for any hint of a clue as to whether or not this was all a trick. He had always prided himself on being able to read body language, knowing it would always tell more than what was actually coming out a person’s mouth. But he got nothing.
“With your suffering to come.”
He took in Tommy’s emotionless expression. “My suffering?” he snorted. “What do you even know about the word?”
“I know you have always believed that your way of existing in the world was superior to everyone else’s,” Tommy replied with a sneer. “I remember you used to speak of other people’s ridiculous morals and their pathetic unwillingness to manipulate others, even to service themselves. You twisted it to mean that perhaps everyone was like you, and that they were simply pretending to have this mythical concept of conscience. By believing that, you could therefore claim to be the only straightforward and honest person in the world…reality in a society of fantasy.”
“You never really knew me, Tommy,” he noted in a flat tone. “You only like to think you did.”
“Your wrong, Obi. I know that somewhere, buried so deep inside you it has probably never even been aware of the existence of light, there is the faintest murmuring that something is missing. You even said in your interview with Franklin that you felt ‘hollow’. Everything you ever did, from the moment you took a life, was simply because you envied what others had that you believed you didn’t. You sought to destroy that which you lacked, always choosing those people whose characters where defined by conscience; mothers, fathers, nurses, doctors. You wanted to play with the people around you, but what you were doing was illustrating that there was an innate link between you and the rest of humanity. As one-dimensional and inborn as it is, you desperately wanted to be a part of the world, even as you fought against it.”
Obadiah grinned and clapped slowly. “Bravo, young Jacques. You were never this insightful when you were alive. That’s the afterlife for you. Offering you gifts you would have wanted when you were alive, only to give you them when you’re dead and no opportunity to ever use them. Until now, that is.”
Tommy took a deep breath and looked at Obadiah with an air of resignation. “Well, that’s not my real reason for being here.”
Obadiah looked suspiciously at his friend. “Why are you trying to help me, Tommy? We weren’t that close.”
“You’re right, we weren’t. And honestly, you’re the most despicable man in this or any other plane of existence. The things you did Obi, you should never be allowed to forget or even approach any sort of closure. You’re an evil man. But even the most evil of men should be allowed the chance to atone for their sins.”
“Is that why I’m here? To atone?”
“No, Obi,” Tommy said. “You’re here to suffer, plain and simple.”
“Don’t sugar coat it Tommy, just tell me straight,” he replied glibly.
“I’m telling you everything you need to know, my old friend. You need to look with better eyes to see what is right in front of you. You will suffer here, that much is already prologue.”
“And when will this alleged suffering begin?” Obadiah asked, his tone slightly less arrogant.
“It already has,” his friend replied assuredly.
Obadiah looked around him again, noting the normalcy of the pub’s patrons around him and then back at the surreal presence that was Tommy.
“Fuck off.”
An almost cruel smile spread across Tommy’s face. “You’re afraid, afraid of what is beyond and immediately ahead of you. You were an unstoppable force and the world was the unmovable object, giving you stability, both equal and opposite. But here, you are at the mercy of a higher power, one that has plans for you. And Obi, it is so close now, so terrifyingly close you can almost taste it. It is going to get bad for you my old friend. I just wanted to warn you. Not that you can stop it, but just so you’re prepared for what is to come.”
“And what’s that exactly?” Obadiah demanded, letting out some of his anger as he leaned towards his friend, his eyes narrow slits.
Tommy’s expression suddenly became forlorn as he rose from his seat. “It was good to see you, Obi.”
“Tommy, wait!” he called as his friend left his seat and headed for the door, the cold draft blasting into the pub as it was opened. His friend paused for a moment, looking back with a dead expression before stepping outside. Obadiah slowly sat back down and continued to stare at the door long after it had quietly closed.
Dr. John Franklin, BS.c. HONS, PH.D. M.A., M.CLIN, PSYCH. A.F.PS.S.I.
Case Number: 01020541/27
Subject: Stark, Obadiah James (a.k.a. The Tally Man) cont.
Victim history continued:
Between January 1991 and March 1993, the subject murdered a further seven women; Amanda Eagles, Lynda Portman, Rachel Wheet, Joanne Armstrong, Ann-Marie Sutcliffe, Sharon Bantame and Lynette Bouza. The locations of the victims’ bodies varied by as much as 200 miles; Amanda Eagles’ body was found in Spanish Town in Baton Rouge, not far from the location where Meredith Clements’ body was discovered, whereas Lynette Bouza’s body was found in Pensacola, Florida. Such distances, continuing to make it difficult for law enforcement agencies to focus their investigation, illustrated Obadiah Stark’s insight that he needed to keep the murders separated by not only time but also geography.
During this twenty-seven month period, Obadiah moved between jobs, always staying long enough to avoid unwanted attention, but not long enough for his inept social skills to become apparent. Indeed, the subject had by now become a consummate actor, ma
king complete use of the social roles he understood could make excellent masks for him to wear on a daily basis. For short periods of time in his variety of, outwardly, professional careers, Obadiah distracted people from his true nature by presenting himself in a creative and faux-thoughtful way, using his insight to understand what people really desire from others in order to be accepted. This ability to abuse people’s aptitude of conscience provided him with the power to render those around him blind to his actual personality. This is perfectly illustrated in an excerpt from a police statement provided by one of Obadiah’s former colleagues at an Outreach Association he worked at in New Orleans.
Excerpt taken from interview with Angela Boyes (dated March 18th 2004):
“I worked quite closely with Obi during the winter of ’91. We always got busy around Christmas, with folks ill with the flu and the like, all wanting to know how to get hold of the best healthcare, being poor and all. Obi was always kind and courteous, taking his time to advise those that would call in when they were real sick. He had a kind tone to his voice, really gentle. He could always put people right at ease, with his talk on how they would be okay and which was the best hospital to go to with the best doctors. He was real smart too, always telling us on our breaks about different cultures and the things they did for fun.
“…I couldn’t believe it when I saw it on the news all those years later… that Obi was that man they had been looking for all that time…who had murdered all those poor women. And I got scared. I mean, I used to sit next to him and let him drive me home. He was always kind to me, never tried anything on. But seeing him on TV, that look in his eyes…empty. It was as though he were someone else… and his voice. He didn’t sound kind anymore when he spoke…he sounded lifeless, as though he were talking in his sleep.”
During this time, the media were now comparing Obadiah’s crimes to those perpetrated by Theodore ‘Ted’ Bundy and Richard Ramirez, whose crimes consisted of thirty homicides that were known of and thirteen counts of murder respectively. Though his identify was still unknown, the subject remained on FBI and law enforcement watch lists. Indeed, Obadiah was once again interviewed at his home following the discovery of Ann-Marie Sutcliffe’s body, but no arrest was made due to lack of evidence.
In was apparent during our conversation that the subject held an extensive knowledge of law enforcement methodologies, subsequently utilizing many simple techniques to avoid detection such as ensuring he never left fingerprints at the scene or DNA evidence on any of his victim’s body’s. Though it is widely considered virtually impossible to leave no physical evidence, one can compare once again the subject to Ted Bundy, who used the fact that his fingerprints were never found at the scene of any crimes as part of his defence case and up until his execution in January 1999. Obadiah Stark’s application of the above and his use of expansive geographic locations across widely disparate jurisdictional locations for disposal of his victim’s bodies ensured that he was able to elude capture for nearly fifteen years.
A meticulous researcher, the subject can now be considered as a sufferer of low latent inhibition, a condition that would link into his power/control classification as a serial killer. Whereas, in someone of a low I.Q., such a characteristic can result in distracted behaviour, general inattentiveness and a tendency towards other absentminded habits, in someone with a high I.Q such as Obadiah Stark, such a behaviour could allow an individual to stream stimuli in a more effective manner, thereby allowing it to power their creativity and increase awareness of their surroundings. Depending on the sufferer’s intelligence, it can either cause psychosis bordering on schizophrenia or, with an above average intelligence, a higher level of creative achievement. However, as this is the author’s assessment and not a clinically endorsed theory, the aforementioned may be viewed as an observed personality trait rather than a mental disorder.
Throughout this period of time, the subject was attentive to one additional thing; his tattoo. Viewing it as a record of achievement for his crimes, Obadiah Stark continued to add tally marks to the area on his back. As during the 11-year investigation of the subject’s crimes, the individual responsible for the application of the tattoo remains unknown despite many tattoo artists being interviewed following the description given by Sara Morgan.
Often, serial killers may take a souvenir that holds no value other than to them in their fantasy world. The subject, never accredited with psychotic breaks or delusions despite his obvious sociopathic nature, chose to have applied a tattoo as his symbol of achievement and constant reminder of his crimes. Conversely, and completely in keeping with the subject’s paradoxical nature as a serial killer, this tattoo held no significance other than to Obadiah Stark himself, in that it did not have any links to his modus operandi nor motive for his committing the crimes. It was a simple yet elegant representation of a stele, adorned with a weeping angel or ‘The Angel of Grief’ that held within its epitaphic area two inch lines in blocks of four, with a strikethrough signifying, in the subject’s case, his number of victims tallied in blocks of five.
Excerpt taken from interview with Obadiah Stark (dated 15th April 2010):
“I was never one of those narrow minded individuals who believed he would never be caught. I knew that, one day, I would be. But unlike Bundy, Gacy and all those other wannabe pretenders to the throne, I realised that it wasn’t just the act you had to be remembered for, it was the manner in which you acknowledge it. Ramirez had a pentangle tattooed on his hand to signify he believed he had been working for Satan; Gein used the skin of his victims to fashion a flesh suit; all these things captured headlines certainly. But what if someone has something so simplistic, elegant, and yet representative of something so horrific that you cannot get past the fact that someone measures up the things he has done by simply putting a solitary line onto a design. That’s something you’ll always remember…that I could quantify those women by placing a mark on a tattoo, and that that’s what their lives amounted too as far as I was concerned.
“I knew it would never leave people…the simply, horrific nature of my record of achievement. They would always mention it whenever I was discussed. In the beginning, I was only ever going for notoriety, but I ended up with infamy. I made certain they would never forget what I achieved. The legacy of my actions forced its way into them, penetrating their minds. You could say, physiologically speaking, I raped it into them.”
‘Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth.’
Buddha
Chapter Fifteen
October 2nd
14:17
Northern Ireland Regional Forensic Mortuary
Belfast, Ireland
TRUTH is one of the central subjects in philosophy and one of the largest. Yet problems arise due to the fact that truth can be objective, subjective or, as Arthur C. Clark once said, far stranger than you could imagine.
The nature of truth eludes us, but not because it has no nature, rather because it has more than one. And whilst hiding behind a myriad of disguises, the search for truth can lead to our finest moments or most painful realisations. Whether stumbled across or actively pursued, just like the bell which cannot be unrung, once the truth has been learnt, you cannot unlearn it.
Yet the truth, whether it provides us a bright moment or dark hour, always has attached to it an element of discomfort and fear which propels us towards the courage we need to ultimately confront it.
* * *
Looking out onto the intensely lit cold area from the coroner’s office, Joe couldn’t shake the prescient feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Though it was only his interviews with Stamford and Sabitich which had intrigued the investigative side of him, he couldn’t shake the feeling he now had that something had been amiss with Stark’s execution. Joe didn’t know whether he was becoming obsessed with a conspiracy that existed only in his head, or if there was something to it, but he had figured that whatever it was, the best place to sta
rt corroborating Stamford’s claims would be at the facility where Stark’s body was handled. With any luck, Joe was hoping that William of Occam was right and that out of the few assumptions he had, the simplest one would be the truth, though what principle William would have formulated to explain why anyone would want to cover up the execution of a serial killer, he couldn’t even hazard a guess.
The mortuary, a part of the Royal Victoria Hospital that was kept from the public eye, wasn’t quite the X Files location Joe had expected. Instead of cavernous spacing and stark, flickering lights, he had found himself in an ineffably routine place where technicians busied themselves organising autopsy instruments awaiting Sterile Services and pathologists, dressed in their blue, reversed gowns and purple nitrile gloves, carefully examined bodies with a surprising gentleness. The building housed a four table post mortem examination room and refrigeration capacity for 56 bodies, a dedicated homicide suite, police interview rooms and a training facility for junior pathologists. A water hose was fixed to the wall with a number of drainage-type plugholes placed beneath each of the countertops, a set of large scales accompanying them.
Joe was pulled from his observations by the coroner entering the office, medicinal-smelling air floating in behind him. The overhang of chlorine and disinfectant reminded him of the swimming baths.
“So, Mr. O’Connell,” Andrew Evans announced, pulling out the chair at his desk. “What can we do for you today?” His smile was well practiced, but his tone was brusque, indicating that this conversation had no intention of lasting long.
Joe extended his hand, shaking the coroner’s firmly before sitting down.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. I know you’re busy so I won’t take up too much of your time. And please, call me Joe,” he said taking the notepad from his shoulder bag.
Evans smiled. “How can I help?”
“You may know, I reported on the Stark case extensively, but I just need some contextual details to tidy things up…the process for the receipt and transportation of bodies, that kind of thing.”
Hellbound: The Tally Man Page 20
