The Second Coming Page 8

  He leaned his body over her and gently caressed her angelic face as she writhed like a headless snake. Yes, that’s it. He watched with fascination and sorrow as she blinked her swollen eyes open and began to cry from under the white gag stuffed in her mouth. This poor girl didn’t have any idea where she was or why she was there. And then with great despair, Father John began to violently beat and rape her. He struggled with all of his might and will to stop himself, but it was useless. The feeling of power and ecstasy was too overwhelming.

  When he was done, he collapsed on top of her, regretful, yet satisfied. His heart was pounding and he was short of breath. How could he allow himself to commit such a heinous act? It was as if she cast a spell on him. And with that, he was overwhelmed with a sudden surge of resentment. She was the cause of this! She made him do this to her. He knew it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t stop thinking it and the more he thought it, the more resentful he became.

  There was a burning anger in Father John’s heart as he sat kneeling over Vicky’s battered body. Reaching into his robe, he felt the cold metal handle of the knife and pulled it out, holding the gleaming blade admiringly in front of his face. Vicky’s eyes bulged as she frantically began to shake her head back and forth with muffled screams of terror. It was her fault and he was going to make her pay. He watched with great remorse as he held the knife above his head and then slammed it through her ribs with a bone crunching thud. Vicky’s body jerked like she had been hit with lightning and her eyes bulged as she struggled for a last breath, drowning on her own blood. Father John couldn’t believe what he was seeing and watched defeated yet fulfilled as her head dropped to the side and blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

  He crawled down from the altar resigned, yet unfulfilled like an addict who doesn’t get enough. With raging disappointment, he sliced her abdomen with a scapel from below her navel up to her xiphoid process. What in the name of God was he doing? Wasn’t it enough that he raped and stabbed her? He reached his latex covered hands into the warm darkness between the slit in her belly and pulled her intestines out like squid from a bucket. He watched as he wiped his blood soaked hand on the wall in swooping strokes, painting the number six symbol with the upside down piece sign in the loop. What did it mean? Why was he leaving it on the wall?

  Father John awoke standing naked in front of his mirror with a bloody nose. He didn’t have any recollection of how he got there or what he was doing. His body was tired and his spirit drained as he turned the handle of the sink on and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at his gaunt, pasty face in the mirror. What in the world was happening to him? He dried his face with a towel and then stumbled over to his bed, curling up under the covers in the fetal position. Light reflected off the whitewash walls of his room. He overslept again and missed the morning prayers, but he was too ashamed to get out of bed and face his peers. Did he really kill these two women?

  chapter 21

  MIKE PULLED HIS Mustang up in front of the chapel with an abrupt screech of the tires and hopped out of the car, slamming his door. A few squad cars, a couple of news vans and the crime lab SUV were parked along the street. A crowd was beginning to assemble outside the cordoned area. As Mike hurried around to the back of his car and popped the trunk open, Big Pete approached from the side.

  “It’s official,” he said. “We got ourselves a serial killer.”

  Mike suspected that it was a serial killer after the first murder and yet he was still unprepared when he received the news. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was hoping he was wrong and that the first murder would be the only one. The more time that went by, the more he began to think maybe there wouldn’t be another victim, but deep down he knew that the killer would strike again. Granted, this was sooner than he anticipated. He thought the killer would allow more time for interest in the case to grow cold, but now the killer was making a statement that he could and would kill at any time of his choosing.

  The thought of it made Mike jaw-clenching mad as he scrubbed his hands and wrists with hand sanitizer and then snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Not only was the killer organized and smart, but he was also arrogant. He was committing these crimes right under his nose, in his town and that made Mike want to lash out in vengeance. Mike also knew that arrogance could lead to carelessness and he hoped that the killer had made a mistake and left some type of evidence.

  The guilt and shame from not being able to find any evidence at the first crime scene was already causing him anxiety and sleepless nights, but now there was another dead body. Another family was about to find out that they lost their little girl. Mike knew they wouldn’t even be investigating another murder if he had done his job and found the killer. His instincts told him it was only going to get worse before it got better.

  Mike watched amused as Big Pete struggled to wiggle his chunky hands into the latex gloves. Big Pete grimaced and held his hands up like a doctor going into surgery. It reminded Mike of when OJ held his hands up in court showing that the gloves were too small for him. “God Damn Mike,” Big Pete said in frustration. “Would it be too much to ask to keep a box of larger gloves in your trunk?”

  Mike chuckled. “If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit,” he said with his best Johnny Cochran imitation. Sometimes the only way to deal with all the death was to make light of it.

  Big Pete shook his head as he kept trying to stretch the latex over his fingers.

  “Let’s go,” Mike said encouragingly as he shut his trunk and slapped Big Pete on the shoulder.

  The Chapel of the Chimes was a stucco church with arched wood planked doors and stained glass windows running along the sides. Mike and Big Pete approached the pasty white officer standing guard by the entrance. He looked like he had been sick.

  “Are you alright?” Mike asked.

  The young man shook his head with tight lips and glazed eyes. “It’s worse than anything you could ever imagine,” he told them with a crack in his voice.

  “Why don’t you go get a drink of water and walk around?” Big Pete advised the officer gently.

  As the uniformed officer staggered away, Mike pulled out a pack of gum and offered Big Pete a piece. Mike pushed a piece into his mouth and slipped the pack back into his pocket as he inhaled deeply through his nose.

  “Are you ready?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Let’s do this,” Mike said as he held out a latex fist for Big Pete who firmly hit the top of it and then held his fist out as Mike reciprocated. Mike let out a deep breath as he reached for the twisted iron rod door handle and pulled the heavy swinging door open.

  The chapel was covered in a shroud of shadows as Mike searched for the body lying on top of the altar. At the far end of the room, hanging from an opened arched window, hung the disemboweled body of the killer’s second victim. Her arms were outstretched and her feet bound together as if suspended on an invisible crucifix. How did the killer manage to get her up there?

  Mike moved down the aisle cautiously, oblivious to anything except the suspended body. At first there seemed to be a dark shadow on her torso, but as Mike got closer he realized there was a gaping hole in her stomach. The killer took the time to cut her open and gut her with the precision of a hunter. Of course he was a hunter. It was just that instead of wild game, he chose beautiful young women.

  The dark hole in her pale skin reminded Mike of what a cake looked like after someone took a piece from it, leaving the dark chocolate exposed in the white frosting. What kind of sick mother fucker does this and what did he do with her intestines? Mike scanned the room looking for the satanic symbol.

  In all of his years in combat and homicide, he had never seen anything quite as disturbing as this. Mike was gazing at her head that hung as if she was looking at her feet when he noticed the glimmer of the knife handle protruding from her chest. It was partially covered by her matted hair like a veil.

  “Holy shit,” Big
Pete muttered from behind Mike.

  There was a brief moment when Mike felt his stomach lurch and he raised his latex covered fist to his mouth as he fought off the urge to dry heave. He was in a daze as he approached the front of the chapel which was cordoned off. To the side of the chapel, in the hall, he saw two uniformed officers talking quietly to each other. From what Mike could tell one of the officers was consoling the other officer, who was probably the first officer on the scene. Mike understood the sickening anguish the officer was feeling. No one could ever be the same after witnessing something this vile and Mike knew the images would be ingrained in the officer’s head forever, haunting him when he tried to sleep. They were the same images Mike saw of his dad’s brains blown out the back of his head when he closed his eyes at night when he wasn’t drunk.

  “What the fuck?” was all that Mike could manage to say.

  The chapel was calmly quiet except for the murmurs and echo of distant sobbing from somewhere in the halls of the mortuary. It was something most people would never have to witness, but those who did were changed forever. It took away your innocence and hardened your soul.

  “Why is this guy leaving their bodies in churches?” Big Pete asked quietly.

  Mike stepped around the outside of the crime scene, examining the tile floor and altar.

  “How is it that there isn’t so much as a drop of blood beneath her?”

  “Maybe he didn’t kill her here,” Big Pete hypothesized.

  “You would still think there would be at least a drop.”

  Mike made a concerted effort not to look up at her. He knew it was ridiculous to think that a dead person could be offended, but he knew that he wouldn’t want people looking at him or even worse, his daughter. Out of respect for her parents, he would do his best not to sneak a peek. He wanted to maintain some semblance of dignity when he told her parents that their little girl had been savagely murdered.

  Where was the symbol smeared in her blood? It had to be there somewhere. He checked the surrounding walls and they were clean. To the left of the altar, back against the beige stucco wall, was a small brown door with a dull brass knob. He walked over and opened the squeaky door. It was dark in the stairwell as he felt along the spackled wall for a light switch. He clicked it on. The steps were narrow and worn.

  “What is it?” Big Pete asked.

  “Stairs. I’m going up.”

  At the top of the stairs there was a balcony with a plaster railing and two pillars that Vicky’s wrists were bound to. And then he saw, with a mix of disappointment and relief, the symbol smeared in blood on one of the pillars. It was all the confirmation he needed. The killer was the same sick bastard.

  Mike glared at the symbol trying to decipher it. He had done research on symbols, but was unable to find one that resembled this one. Did the number 6 represent the number of the beast or maybe it was the number of victims he was going to kill? What about the lines in the loop of the number? Were they an upside down piece sign or did they represent something else? Come on Mike. What is he trying to tell us?

  “What’d you find?” Big Pete asked as he walked up the stairs. Mike waited for Big Pete to see it himself. “Son of a bitch,” he said with unnerving realization. “It’s his calling card.”

  Mike nodded. “That and the sterling silver knife.”

  Both men were inspecting the balcony when the clank of the front door broke their concentration. They headed down the stairs. They had seen all they needed to see.

  When they got to the bottom, Scotty was haphazardly bounding down the aisle dressed in infection control apparel like a surgeon, carrying what looked like a large tool box. Another technician was behind him carrying a long-lens camera.

  “Well if it isn’t Tubbs and Crocket,” Scotty cackled.

  Mike looked at Big Pete with an appreciative grin as Big Pete shook his head with tolerating disbelief.

  “You should eat your lunch Spicholi, not smoke it,” Mike quipped.

  “Good one Sonny,” Scotty replied as he looked up at the hollow corpse. “Jesus Christ. He gutted this one like a fish,” he said with a hint of morbid admiration. “Speaking of fish, doesn’t she look like a mermaid on the bow a pirate ship?”

  “Come on man,” Big Pete replied. “Have a little respect for the dead.”

  Scotty shot Big Pete a confounded look. “You deal with it your way; I’ll deal with it my way.”

  “Easy ladies,” Mike said. “We’ve all got our jobs to do. Let’s keep our focus.”

  Scotty introduced the other lab technician who set up his tripod and was now focusing in on the body like a rare flower.

  “Do me a favor Scotty,” Mike pleaded. “Find something for us this time. Anything.”

  chapter 22

  WHEN FATHER JOHN woke hours later, he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling contemplating what his dreams meant and why he was having them and by the end of the day he was overwhelmed with shame and fear. Shame for being so weak in spirit to allow this to happen again and fear for what it meant and what was going to happen next. Why was this happening to him? What had he done to deserve this?

  He wanted to talk with someone and he thought about seeking the abbot’s council, but he was reluctant to admit what he was doing in his dreams, especially the fact that there was a part of him that enjoyed the allure of power despite how much he tried not to. That was the hardest part for him to accept.

  He decided he would tell Abbot Paul about his dreams, but would not tell him that he was the one committing the crimes.

  Abbot Paul’s shoulders were hunched and he shuffled his feet like he was carrying a burden that he wished someone would lift from his back. He had been with the abbey for over 20 years and had risen all the way through the ranks. He was a gentle and understanding man that was considered fair, but firm.

  They sat on wood Adirondack chairs in the open terrace outside of what used to be Leland Stanford’s brick wine cellar, sipping brandy made in the abbey’s winery as they looked out at the acres of vineyards. It was a heavy, hot night with not even a wisp of a breeze. Both men sat in silent contemplation enjoying the brilliant display of stars as they waited for the other to break the silence, when finally the abbot spoke.

  “Is everything alright John? We missed you at the daily prayers again today. That is the second time this month.”

  Father John paused and looked down at the grass beneath his sandaled feet. “I’ve been having dreams again,” he said wearily.

  “Ah yes. Dreams of divine intervention. I was hoping that one day you would share one with me.”

  Father John shifted uncomfortably as he gazed at his glass trying to figure how to tell the abbot without disappointing him. “Unfortunately these were not dreams of divine intervention. These dreams were different.”

  The abbot looked at him with a wrinkled forehead of confusion. “How were they different?”

  “Instead of dreaming about saving people, I’ve been dreaming about people, women, who are being raped and murdered,” he said hesitantly as he watched the abbot with squinted eyes.

  The abbot’s face contorted inward. “I don’t understand. Who is raping and killing the women in your dreams?”

  Father John cleared his throat and took a sip of his brandy. “In my dreams, I see the rapes and murders through the eyes of the killer. It’s like I’m in someone else’s head and I can hear what they are thinking and feel. I try to stop the killer, but I am helpless against his will.” Father John felt relief with his explanation. Why didn’t he think of this before? It couldn’t have been him that was doing these terrible things to the young women. It was the only explanation that made sense. The question now was, why was this happening to him?

  The abbot paused and reflected intently. “Could it be that it is you who is committing these crimes in your dreams and the voice that you hear in your head is your conscious?”

  “At first that is what I thought, but now I don’t think so. I think I am meant to be there
to try and stop the killer, but I don’t know how or why?”

  “Do you think these crimes are just dreams or do you think they are happening in real life like your dreams of divine intervention?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been afraid to look. I was hoping that it wouldn’t happen again. I suppose we should go on the internet and search to see if there have been any murders that match my dreams.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this to me before?” The abbot asked with an upset tone as he wearily stood up. “I believe you are right and that you are there to protect the innocent. God did not endow you with the power of divine intervention only to turn it against you. There may be some other evil force at play here. First we must find out if the dreams are happening in real life and if they are, we can try to figure out why they are happening. In the morning we can use the computer in the administration office to see if we can find a match to your dreams.”

  chapter 23

  BIG PETE AND Mike sullenly walked through the doors of The Precinct over to the corner of the bar and perched themselves atop of their stools, hunched over with their forearms resting on the bar. They were both emotionally drained. There were a couple of guys and a girl sitting at the other end of the bar carrying-on and a couple of guys playing pool. Alice in Chains was melodically strumming over the jukebox drowning out the crack of the cue ball.

  As he sat on his lopsided stool, staring at the hairy knuckles of his interlocked fingers, Mike could have fallen asleep except for the fact that he couldn’t get the image of Vicky’s carcass, hanging defiled in the sanctuary, out of his mind. There were only two things that would make it go away; alcohol and catching the killer. At the present, alcohol was the only option.

  “Jesus Christ!” George said as he approached them from the other side of the bar. “What the hell happened to you guys?”