by Daniel Jeudy
Addison unsnapped the clip on his gun belt as he approached the shack, pushing the door ajar with his foot. The distinct scent of rotten flesh slapped his face as specks rotated within a slender bar of sunlight, creating an impression they were standing inside a snow box of organic decay. Bile started rising at the back of his throat as the humid smell of turned earth fastened to the sickly-sweet odor of death. The stench was unmovable. It was as if they’d jumped inside an opened grave while a sheet of contamination infected their senses.
Cole had thrown down a few moldy carpets on the ground, and long clumps of plaster drooped down from the walls like hanging moss. Addison heard Jed dry retching somewhere behind him. He clicked on his flashlight and moved forward uncertainly, sweeping the dark corners of the room in search of whatever produced the stink of corruption in the air. Addison felt the killer’s menace everywhere beneath the makeshift roof. His savagery and hunger pervaded the atmosphere—a sense he had dined upon his victims’ suffering.
Shadows engraved his wickedness on every line and corner of this terrible place; there was no escaping his presence. An obsessive love of things was what generally turned a person evil. Severe cravings for sex, control, and luxury could cast a soul into a monster. Even so, whatever mechanism had propelled this piece of shit into action would likely have been there from his very first breath.
Addison noticed a square timber flap crafted into the floor beside a monument of jumbled trash. He waved Jed across, pointing down at the small door while covering his nose with a forearm, waiting until his partner moved in beside him. A pair of hinges were fastened to a steel brace bolted into a concrete block, and a rusty handle was attached to the middle of the timber panel.
When Addison bent down, he identified something aligned to the sinister vow he’d sensed in the predawn world outside the ranch a little earlier. Whatever he was about to view would be added to the canvass inside his head to plague his dreams and keep him awake at night.
He counted to three in his mind, then slowly raised the hatch, encountering a reek unlike anything he’d previously confronted. When Addison guided the beam of his flashlight into the darkness, he was inundated by a compilation of ten human corpses. They appeared contorted and grotesque, placed around a table amid an ocean of pulsating maggots.
Addison forced himself to scrutinize the rotting carcasses below, seeing how they were all breaking apart in chunks under the weight of their degeneration. One of the victims seemed to gape upward as streams of yellow fluid dribbled from its eye sockets.
A spray of bile burst out of him as he fell backward, the sour smell of his puke making a pleasant change. A storm stirred within Addison’s mind while images sputtered behind his tightly closed eyes. He saw his father’s face in the rain while lightning flashed in the sky of a moonless night before Nate ran over the ridge of a mountain, flickering with the electrical surges as he tried to outrun a flood intent on sweeping him away. Addison shook his head, taking a moment to stabilize his thoughts.
“This is worse than Dahmer,” he managed as vomit exploded up his throat.
Jed remained crouched on his haunches with a hand across his face, looking pallid and wobbly. The kid was whiter than a ghost.
Addison’s Samsung began vibrating in his coat pocket, and he removed it in a habitual motion without checking to see who it was. “Mowbray,” he answered through gritted teeth.
“Where the fuck are you?” It was Collins, and he sounded pissed.
“We’re behind the house. Walk around the back, and you’ll see some juniper trees a short distance away. Then continue into the scrub until you see a cabin, but you best be covering your nose when you step inside because the stink will upset your stomach.”
“Is Perkins with you?” Collins replied.
Addison considered the photo of his son, which had been distributed among the Filii Reprobi, before he said, “Yeah, he is. But the FBI isn’t aware of what’s waiting down here. So, come alone if you can because we need to talk to you privately about something.”
“Behind the main house, you say?” Collins asked.
“Yeah, go down the right side of the property, and you’ll see what I just described.” Addison ended the call as another thrust of bile burnt his windpipe.
Jed had already gone outside to get air as Addison remained keeled over in disgust, unable to get going. He needed a breath but was reluctant about taking one all the same. The sound of the lieutenant’s approach soon filtered inside, and Addison turned his head to see Jed pointing toward the square hole in the floor.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Collins said upon entering the shack, tentatively making his way over to where Addison sat hunched over in his vomit.
The lieutenant began coughing in a way to suggest he was nearing a state of nausea, so Addison passed him the flashlight and stumbled back through the door, heaving into the dust one last time. Jed was sucking air like he’d spent the previous few minutes trapped beneath the water, which got Addison thinking how essential luxuries like oxygen get taken for granted.
He heard Collins retching within, and by the time he stumbled outside to take up an unsteady position against the wall, Addison had regained his composure.
“What the fuck is that down there?” Collins wheezed.
He was dressed in a pair of dark blue Levi’s and a collared shirt like Jed, and there were several wet spots splattered over his jeans.
“We need to talk to you about a call we both received last night,” Addison said.
Jed was still crouched on his haunches. “What the fuck?”
“We have to notify him of the calls. This investigation needs to appear as if it has been switched off on our end, and that won’t be happening without Jevonte’s assistance.”
Collins waited in front of them with a mystified expression.
“What fucking phone calls?”
Addison and Jed spent the next few minutes relaying the details of what occurred during the night.
When they finished, Collins spat on the ground, outraged by what he’d just heard. A hundred different questions tormented his mind. “Unbelievable,” he managed.
A protracted silence followed before Jed reengaged. “You’ll keep the whole Filii Reprobi thing on the down-low, then?” he asked.
Collins looked astounded and possibly a little offended. “These fuckers took photos of your girlfriend’s diner. They were inside his kid’s bedroom—of course I’ll be leaving them out of my reports. But what about the special agent in charge and his partner? Do you think they received a similar warning as well?”
Addison smiled wistfully.
“Nah, it sure would be a whole lot easier for us if they had, but Rick was in his element back there. My guess is they’ll be drinking beers and telling jokes long into the night. Let’s wait and see where they stand in a week from now. But we may need to have a chat.”
Collins was looking at them in a bemused manner.
“What?” Addison asked.
“You’re both planning to let this whole matter slide then? Accept the recognition soon to be headed your way and start catching new cases again as if they never existed?”
Addison never felt comfortable being dishonest at the greatest of times. He usually felt awkward even shading the truth. They had been candid with one another in arriving at this fork in the road, and he didn’t see any reason to change tact now.
“I intend to nail their balls to a freaking wall,” he said. “But I’ll need to come across like a frightened little creep mouse to be successful. I figure it’ll take some doing, particularly as I’ll be working the case on my dime, but I’ll get them all eventually. I promise you I will.”
Collins paused as he shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky. “No, Mowbray … We’ll get these cocksuckers by working together—you, me, and Perkins here. When they threatened you boys, they threatened me as well. I have five adult children, so I feel where you’re coming from.”
Addison nodde
d his head gratefully.
“Who wants to inform Sharp?” Jed inquired.
Collins looked at him blankly. “That would be you, Perkins,” he confirmed.
“Don’t know why I even bothered with the question,” Jed countered as he began making his way along the narrow path to the main house.
“This is about as bad as it gets, Mowbray,” Collins confided while turning around and sneaking another look inside the murky space.
“Even more so when you consider they served him up to us,” Addison answered before spitting the taste of decay out of his mouth. “We need to figure out a way to smoke these scumbags out. It ain’t gonna be straightforward.”
Collins considered Addison’s statements. “You happen to have any liquor with you this morning?”
Addison pulled a whiskey flask from his coat and handed it over.
“I must say, I’m a little bit surprised,” Collins said after taking a hit.
“About?”
“I always had you pegged as a Jack Daniel’s man.”
Addison chuckled. “When you rely on the stuff as I do, you take it any way you can,” he replied, taking a healthy pull as they waited for Jed to return with the cavalry. Addison began thinking about his desire to put a bullet in everyone associated with Filii Reprobi.
“I’m not sure I want to arrest these sons of bitches,” he said flatly before pulling on the whiskey and embracing the burn.
Collins extended his arm, accepting the flask with somber appreciation. “Fair call, I reckon,” he said as the two of them stared at nothing.
Addison returned the flask to his pocket and lit a cigarette, blowing three smoke rings into the morning air.
“Are you going to be making a call to Phoenix PD?” Collins asked.
Addison spat on the ground again. “I’m not prepared to take the risk, not after what I’ve seen here this morning. Everyone we’ve spoken to who’s had any kind of contact with these people has clarified how connected they are. It’s not as if I’d believed they were all fibbing to me; an embellishment of the facts is what I thought of their testimonies. Then these Filii Reprobi assholes called Jed and me at home—and neither of us is listed—promising they would bring the case to a shuddering halt. So, a call to Phoenix isn’t going to be happening right now. Although, that situation may change, depending on what occurs next.”
Collins looked at him strangely, like he’d forgotten something essential. “What about Anders and the woman?” he asked.
“They didn’t mention them. But I don’t want their murders on my conscience.”
Addison drew deeply on his smoke. The whiskey and tar made him feel vaguely human again, sterilizing the rot he’d inhaled inside the cabin. Ever since his father’s murder, he often felt invisible currents of darkness around him, roiling with determination as it attempted to extinguish his hope. Addison sensed a purified version of that same vileness clawing at his skin right now. He needed answers and didn’t much care how he ended up getting them.
“You thinking we’ve got a rat on the team?” Collins wondered.
“I’m not sure. But an intelligent informant usually waits till rumors are bubbling to the surface before passing on information. There were only three of us who knew about Filii Reprobi, so I think if there’s a rat, then it’s more likely they’d be a Fed.”
Addison heard approaching footsteps, rustling branches, and murmured conversation. He took one final drag on his cigarette, then stepped on the butt as Jed came into view with Sharp, Pearce, and two other FBI agents. For some reason, their faces reminded Addison of an android painting he’d seen a few years ago.
“How y’all doin’?” Addison greeted, with just enough warmth in his voice to maintain the appearance of civility as he moved toward the path.
“You not coming in?” Sharp called after him.
“No thanks, Rick. I’ve seen enough,” he replied without concern.
The FBI could have the accolades for all he cared. His mind was already focused on the long game—finding the players behind this mask.
Fifty-Eight
The Old Man settled back on a vintage couch inside Adelanto Chapel, sipping a glass of whiskey while Meagan’s slender fingers brushed against the inside of his thigh. Sarah Parker and Larry Springfield were nailed to the wall across from where he sat.
All around him, Filii Reprobi pandered in brutality, Black Magick, and sexual experimentation. He observed his protégé, Susan Rodriguez, kneeling beside a pit of glowing coals. She appeared to be lost inside some homicidal impression as she cooked an iron in the embers, smirking while she gaped up at her playthings nearby.
Sarah Parker’s skin glistened with a high fever. Her breasts resembled two mounds of sagging raw flesh, and one of her ribs was partly visible through the burns on her skin. She persisted in begging for mercy, although her phrases sounded adjoined, lengthy, and stretched out like that of a stroke victim. Susan had gradually amputated two fingers from her left hand with a rusted butter knife, and the bloody stumps twitched alongside her remaining digits. The nervous system was a fantastic universe to behold at times.
Larry appeared in even worse condition than his hanging partner as his innards dangled out the lower part of his stomach. His intestines were a slick steamy pink. They looked like misshapen earthworms, so hideous and slimy yet beautiful just the same. This was art in its purest form, the kind of creativity the Old Man put his name on.
“Larry has never been more appealing,” the Old Man said coldly.
“I’m only just getting started on him,” Meagan replied.
The Old Man considered himself colder than Alpine snow—colder than the freeze that covered the lakes during winter. No amount of tenderness proved capable of touching the power-driven hatred within his soul. His parents had tried to breach the barricades of his heart when he was a child, caressing his face in bed each night while he imagined peeling back their skin, then feeding whatever lay beneath to a stray dog.
He was comfortable among maniacs, which was a somewhat tricky way to pass his time. Edward had believed himself to be a shrewd operator, and to an extent, he surely was. The blackmail material he managed to accumulate throughout the years affirmed the fact. But none of them could outmaneuver him on the playing board because they didn’t have his connections. It was why he always slept without a hint of fear.
“I want you to keep them alive for as long as possible, Meagan.”
“Of course, my darling,” she whispered in his ear.
He looked around at his creation with a sense of pride. The sweet reek of opulence declared their superiority over regular folk. Filii Reprobi were exceptional and sophisticated. They disregarded every law inscribed upon the hearts of men, receiving wisdom from the Angel of Light who’d fallen from heaven like lightning. The afterlife just promised more of the same—an eternity of doing whatever they desired.
Filii Reprobi generated synchronization by providing the opportunity to experience legitimate power swirling about in the palm of a hand. But to those who get presented the chance, he expected much. Larry Springfield’s torture served as a reminder to all. One careless mistake could end up costing an affiliate much more than their membership.
“What are you smiling about?” Meagan asked.
“Nothing,” he answered with a grin.
“It can’t be nothing. You’ve smiled three times this past year.”
The Old Man thought about what she just said. “I never liked Larry,” he said evenly. “Not one little bit.”
“Why?”
“Because he is a boasting Jew brat who never had to do anything. Life laid a golden egg in his fucking lap, and I knew he would eventually find a way to screw it up.”
Meagan’s eyes flamed while she stared into the Old Man’s face. “Watch this, then,” she teased playfully, getting to her feet and gliding across the room where she removed an ice pick from inside a metal bucket.
Larry became attuned to her presence. His mouth w
as slightly agape while he followed her movement with a haunted gaze. A large bag of A-positive blood had been attached to a stand nearby, sustaining his life through an intravenous line fed into his vein. Meagan purred up to him like a jaguar and grabbed hold of his head, placing the pick against his left eyeball.
“P-P-Please, Meagan …” he sobbed.
“Aww, what a poor little man you have become,” she mocked.
Meagan’s hand was sturdy from years of surgery as she applied a lazy pressure with her wrist, standing on tiptoes, her calves turned to granite. Sarah Parker began howling again due to Susan’s attempt to reveal another rib, so Meagan touched her tenderly on the upper arm, encouraging her to pause for just a moment. “Check this out,” she said.
Then Larry’s eyeball exploded, and goo ran down his cheek while he wailed.
The Old Man was delighted. “Keep playing, girls. Keep playing,” he encouraged, settling back to enjoy the show, seated on top of the world. He didn’t have a care in the world right now. Even if the two LAPD detectives decided to persevere with their snooping, they could do little. In truth, he wasn’t foolish enough to butcher the cop’s kid, not right away at least.
If they fucked with Filii Reprobi, he’d arrange to have their asses fired. Set them up on bogus charges to make it appear as though they’d done something corrupt. It was decidedly uncomplicated, considering the various stooges who were already in his pocket. The poor saps wouldn’t stand a fucking chance—nobody ever did.
It was time for him to enter the fun. He wanted to collect a little keepsake from Larry boy. A testicle maybe, or perhaps his remaining eyeball. The Old Man crept in behind Meagan and Susan, slipping his hand up their skirts to sample the wetness of their excitement. He started whistling with joy—he was whistling “Dixieland.”
