The Serpent and the Light

by Bo Luellen

  He shook his head and replied, “I don’t know, but I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in patterns and trends. This guy was quick and agile. He wasn’t running scared, his moves were too cool-headed. When I was down, the perp stopped to see if I would follow or maybe he was deciding whether or not to come back and kill me. He stayed in the shadows of the bridge and waited until I wasn’t looking to make his move, so I wouldn’t see what direction he went. I don’t think that was a coincidence either. This person knew what he was doing. He was trained and in better shape than he was letting on.”

  His friend opened his hands up and asked, “So you think this guy is what, some homeless dude who is killing random white sandwich shop owners in his free time? Do you want to stake out Arby’s? I hear they have all the meats. Best place to start.”

  The detective turned his chair around and wheeled closer to Bell’s desk and answered, “No, but what if this guy is the reason the homeless are going missing and he has started moving his pattern. Since it isn’t the end of the year, the missing person numbers wouldn’t get reported to the media yet. He might know that, and could have changed tactics or got sloppy.”

  Johnston got a serious tone in his voice as he muttered, “You mean like a serial killer?”

  He turned his head towards his friend, answering, “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. What if this guy has been practicing on these homeless? Think about it. No one is looking for them, they are easy prey. This person might not even be a homeless guy at all. He could be from any walk of life. Someone with the training, the money, and the wrong wiring could pull this off.”

  Johnston stroked his chin and deduced, “Wait, you said this guy didn’t have any teeth, and you can’t fake meth mouth. If he is a functioning member of society, you can’t look like a drug addict and work at a bank.”

  Bell leaned forward and replied, “Looks can be deceiving, handsome.”

  She flipped her false upper and lower dentures out of her mouth and into her hand. She pressed her mouth together to make a puckered face, as Johnston leaned back with a grossed-out expression. Bell gave a rotted grin, showing off the decayed stubs of what was left of her teeth. Johnston gave her a painful smile in an attempt to not look horrified.

  She popped her teeth back in and mused, “You put a beard on a face, and you can’t tell what their skin looks like in the face. A pair of false teeth from a Halloween store, I put some ragged clothes on you from Goodwill and bingo; you become just as invisible as the rest of the homeless. John, if there is someone out there killing my people, I want to help you find them.”

  Johnston stood up and bade, “Hey, let’s slow this way down. We have zero hard evidence. This is just a paper-thin theory. For all we know, there is a bad batch of drugs out there killing people. There could be a turf war, and gangs are killing runners, or it could be that these addicts decided Oklahoma City has better crack prices.”

  Utterson spun his chair around and nearly crashed, getting out of the office. It was his first time rolling in a wheelchair, and he almost ran into people on his path to the front desk. Charlie happily trotted behind him on his three legs, while Utterson yelled at people to get out of the way.

  Johnston marched after him, yelling, “Hey, Professor X. Slow it down, man. Where are you think you’re going?”

  Perhaps it was the detective’s determination, but Charlie went into work mode and kept pace beside the Detective. The animal was well trained, and the loss of a single leg didn’t dull his confidence. Utterson slammed into the desk, effectively waking up the sleeping man attending it and jolting his ribs. The elderly bald attendant snorted a few times and then peered at Utterson with bloodshot eyes. He held his side as Johnston caught up to him and pulled his chair back a little.

  Utterson pointed his finger at the attendant and ordered, “Give me the PA microphone. Now!”

  The man looked at his boss and asked, “What’s this all about, Bell?”

  Johnston tapped his badge on his uniform, getting the attention of the elderly man and suggested, “Hey, if the man says to give him the mic, do it! He has had a lot of sugar today, and he pees himself when he doesn’t get his way. It’s a mess.”

  Bell gave the go-ahead, and the man handed the microphone to Utterson. He held a hand out to Johnston and used his help to get out of the chair. Utterson leaned on the desk, looked out over the building, and saw over forty souls sitting in groups, huddled around heaters trying to get warm. Pulling the mic up to his face, he took a deep breath. He clicked the mic button a few times to test if it was on and then cleared his throat. The sound went all over the warehouse, as the homeless stopped what they were doing and gave him confused looks.

  His voice filled the shelter with a thunderous announcement, “My name is Detective John Utterson with the Tulsa Police Department. It is my understanding that some of the homeless community have been going missing. I want you to raise your hand if you have had a friend who lives on these streets that has vanished this year.”

  Only three didn’t raise their hands. He swallowed hard and added, “Put your hand down if your missing friend gave you some kind of advanced warning. Don’t raise your hand if they were going to move away, live with relatives, go to jail, or get out in an institution.”

  Only one hand went down, which caused Utterson to grow a small smile and look up at Johnston. They turned in circles, looking at dozens of raised hands held up and the scared faces of their owners. The elderly, the addicted, and the unfortunate all began roar about their lost friends and loved ones.

  Utterson gripped the mic a little tighter and shouted, “Everyone, calm down. I want everyone who thinks their friend disappeared under some suspicious circumstances to keep their hands up and the rest, put them down.”

  Johnston whistled as every hand stayed up in the shelter, and Bell cussed to herself. Charlie let out a single little whine and moved closer to Bell’s side. He handed the PA mic off to Johnston and took out his phone.

  John dialed the numbers for Captain Andino and told his friend, “Johnston, I’m going to talk to your sergeant and get you assigned to me. You and I have some work to do.”

  Chapter 7: Richard II

  Broken Arrow, OK - Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 – 1:38 a.m. CST

  Richard Enfield and Daniel Harris sat in a black van and put on gloves and ski masks, preparing for the task at hand. This was Richards’s first meeting with Daniel since the death of Samuel. It was the custom of the Crimson Brotherhood to give the most worthy Apprentice the estates, title and holdings of a dead Elder. When he killed his Mentor, Richard became an overnight multimillionaire and became an Elder himself. An added benefit was that he became the new Mentor to Samuel’s other four Apprentices, and Daniel Harris was one of them.

  Richard looked over at Daniel and admitted, “Just so we’re clear, this is my first breaking and entering job.

  The short, balding man continued to stare at the floor plans to the funeral home as he replied, “Don’t worry, Elder. This is simple work. I’ll have you in and out in no time.”

  The Elder regarded Daniel with curiosity and inquired, “You seem to be less broken up over the passing of Samuel than the rest. Were you two close?”

  Daniel grabbed the door handle and paused to reply, “If, by, ’passing,’ you mean you murdered him in front of us, then yes, I’m okay with it.”

  Richard nodded and remarked, “Well, you’ll be well treated. I plan on continuing whatever considerations he was affording you.”

  The shorter man gave a crooked smile and related, “Let’s get this straight boss, I don’t give a damn which one of you I call Elder. I’m not in this club to worship some squid god or to usher in the end of the world. My ’mentor‘ recruited me by having me beaten half to death by some skinheads in the yard. They beat me until nearly every bone in my face was broken, all my teeth were knocked out, and they broke both of my legs. The prison guards showed up a few minutes after they were done and took me to the infirm
ary. I was hooked up to a life support system, but not given any painkillers. The warden walked Samuel right up to my bed, and the smug son-of-a-bitch gave me a walk down memory lane. He knew about the jobs I had pulled, all of them! Even the ones I never got caught doing, which were most. He knew about my military service and the aliases I’d used. The bastard knew it all.

  “He told me, ’Daniel, you’re a talented thief who was just beaten to death by some other inmates. Tomorrow, they will cremate your body, and a letter will be sent to your sister in Colorado, informing her of your fate. Now, you have a decision to make. Choice one, you come to work for me, and we hand your sister an urn full of pig ashes. Choice two, we hand her the real thing.’ There wasn’t much of a choice if I wanted to go on living. The Brotherhood had me sign one of their contracts in blood, which means nothing to me.”

  He took one glove off and showed him the burned tips of his fingers, continuing, “What did make an impression was them taking a hot iron and burning off my fingerprints. The death certificate Samuel showed me once I got out of plastic surgery. I got a new face and a new name. I was told by the Crimson Brotherhood that I answer to Daniel Harris from now on. They even inserted a tracker in my forearm. I’m Samuel’s property, and now I’m yours. The only thing I ask is that you don’t make me a killer. I’m a thief and a damn good one. Let me stay in my lane.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow and replied, “I like to use the right tool for the right job, but you’ll do as I say, regardless.”

  The Elder looked at the empty parking lot of The Broken Arrow Chapel Funeral Home and asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

  Daniel reached back and retrieved a small backpack and replied, “We blackout the camera, pop the lock, then beat the clock back to the van. By the time the cops show up, we will be halfway to the Library.”

  They had spent two hours with the mystics of the Brotherhood preparing the Athame dagger for its task. Richard looked down at the decorated black handle sticking out of his belt and checked the snap on the sheath one last time. The echo of the Master’s threat ringed in his ears still, and he knew this was a matter of life or death for him.

  Richard exited the van and thought, If Samuel had done his job and had proven himself a competent leader, this would have been done Monday night at the bridge.

  Daniel had him stay behind as he worked his way around behind the surveilled area. The 4’ -11” ex-con scaled the brick wall, shimmied along a power conduit, and dangled on a support beam that held the security camera. With one hand, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the spray paint can. In seconds Daniel dropped down onto the concrete and waved Richard to follow him.

  Richard jogged over to the thief who was busy snipping internet cable wires and asked, “What are you doing? The power cable is on the other side of the building.”

  Without turning from his work, Daniel replied, “We need the power to remain on, but the surveillance runs through the cable.”

  Daniel stood up and walked over to the large metal back door as Richard observed, “That clock is ticking. Where’s your crowbar?”

  The thief looked almost insulted as he withdrew a black metal case from his pocket the size of a wallet. He walked up to the security panel and waved it over the scanner. A mechanical click spooked Richard, causing him to jump back a few feet.

  Daniel swung the door open and replied, “Crowbars are hard on the hands, and I’m much too delicate. After you, Rich.”

  The Elder walked past him as he ordered, “Don’t call me that.”

  The pair put on their night vision goggles and walked through the halls of the funeral home. The shorter man led him to the garage area where a large body freezer was positioned next to a hearse. When they opened the door and slid out the body of Lewis Turner, he was already prepared for burial. His skin tone was pink, and the body was washed with a strawberry scented shampoo. The embalming process had already taken place, and the corpse was waiting patiently in its cold tomb for the family viewing. Richard took off the black plastic covering from the body to expose the overweight slob of a man Lewis Turner used to be. Richard withdrew the Athame Dagger and placed its point over the heart. With a fast and ruthless downward thrust, he plunged the ceremonial knife deep into the decomposing tissue. It made a sickly sound as the blade moved through the chemically infused body, dumping out the pink embalming fluid onto the floor.

  He shuffled backward once the blade was deep into the heart, and the pair waited. The fetish dagger was spellbound to react with the heart of The Vessel that was inhabited by Hyde. He stared at the carved handle in anticipation, but it showed no reaction.

  Richard reached over, tapped the Athame’s handle like it was a malfunctioning VCR, and recounted, “The High Mage told me to expect the handle to light up when it entered the heart.”

  Daniel glanced at his watch and then reminded him, “Magic trick or not, the clock is ticking.”

  The Elder took out the knife and drove it back into the body for the second try as the ex-con asked, “You don’t really believe in all this mumbo jumbo? This ritual crap is just a control system. They make you do bad things, so they have something on you for blackmail. This is a fraternity dare, nothing more. If that thing was supposed to light up and it didn’t, its probably because someone forgot to change the batteries in the thing.”

  Richards’s alert tone went off, and Daniel exclaimed, “Dude, really! Ringers off in the movie theater and during breaking and entering!”

  He looked at the message on his phone that read, “Abort Mission. Turner is no longer The Vessel. Hyde has escaped, and the Seers are searching. Return to The Library immediately.”

  He pulled out the dagger and pushed the body back into the cooler, saying, “Get us out of here.”

  Daniel sprang into action and led them back to their vehicle, cursing all the way. Within a few seconds, they were on the back street, headed away from the funeral home, as a parade of Broken Arrow Police cruisers stormed past them. Richard tensed as the flashing red lights blinked past him and noticed that Daniel assumed an unnervingly calm demeanor during the getaway.

  Tulsa, OK - Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 – 2:24 a.m. CST

  The two marched down the cold streets of downtown, Richard forced the shorter Daniel to trot next to his elongated strides. Soon, they were descending the stairs next to The Center of the Universe. Richard scanned the magnetic badge over the entrance to the Library, and the great door moved aside. One of the guards met them as the door opened and escorted them to the War Room.

  When they arrived, the guard put a hand on Daniel’s chest and commanded, “Only Elders are allowed in.”

  Not breaking stride, Richard left the thief behind and stormed into the private chamber. The room contained a long oak table, with a dozen of the Senior Elders sitting around it looking at a large screen tv monitor. He saw the High Mage Benjamin Walsh, the High Seer Melina Schneider, and sitting at the end of the table was the Master, wearing his octopus headdress. One of the Leviathans present got up and walked over towards Richard. The man was muscular, with focused eyes and grey hair starting to peek out in places on his head. Richard judged him to about the same age as Samuel had been, but this was the first time he had engaged the Elder.

  The man stuck out his hand and whispered, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu, Elder Enfield. I’m Elder Maxwell Gardner, one of the Leviathans to the Master. Please follow me.”

  The two walked over to a row of chairs along a far wall and sat down. The room was buzzing with activity, as the screen above showed the green hue of night vision goggles. Several of the technicians were calling out positions and team status, as the High Seer droned on in an R'lyehian incantation.

  As the two settled in their seats, Maxwell leaned in and whispered, “There are people in this Sect that don’t agree with what you did to Samuel. They feel he was one of the wisest leaders we had and had a brilliant mind for the arcane.”

  Richard shot him a cold stare as Gardner continued, “I’m not
one of those people. My Mentor was killed by Samuel ten years ago. I was given the option of becoming an Apprentice to his murderer or choosing a different path. I took the pledge, faced the trials, and became a Leviathan. I’ve held a vendetta for Samuel ever since.”

  Enfield relaxed a bit and remarked, “Samuel was a buffoon, and he died like a whimpering insect.”

  Maxwell stuck out his hand and disclosed, “It took all my reserve to keep from thanking you for that night, but the pressures of my station demand that I stay at the Master’s side. You honored my dead Mentor, proved yourself a fit leader, and earned yourself an ally if you’ll have it.”

  He took the open hand and greeted him, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu, Maxwell. Your friendship is welcomed. What is the status on finding Hyde?”

  The Leviathan pointed at the High Seer, replying, “They think that the Demon managed to overcome the binding powers of the Athame Dagger and Hyde jumped into some random person. Schneider has detected the use of the Enochian language being spoken in the city. The Seers were able to use this and divine the approximate location of the Demon. One of our strike teams is combing the area with orders to shoot to kill. Once we get the body of The Vessel back to the Library, our Mages will extract his soul here.”

  Richard rubbed his hands together, nervously and admitted, “Samuel and I never went over Enochian. What is that?”

  Maxwell took his finger in the air and made little gestures, as he answered, “It’s the Celestial language used by Angels, or in this case, a Fallen Angel such as Hyde.”

  The High Seer stopped his chanting and revealed, “Hyde is using one of the Seven Deadly Sins repeatedly. It feels like the Superbia spell. Here are the coordinates.”

  As Schneider wrote the latitude and longitude on a piece of paper, Maxwell leaned in and whispered, “Remote viewing.”

  Richard rolled his eyes and replied, “Most likely, blind luck or more tricks.”

  As the Master remained motionless, Marcus keyed a microphone and ordered, “Strike team proceed to coordinates: 36.047651 by -95.960402. Surround the area and take up sniper positions. Holland will do the scouting.”