I can’t make him stop, Marcus thought.
What did that mean? Were there two people involved? These were the first words left by the killer or someone who knew him. In some ways, he wished he hadn’t received the message. The case was even more complicated now.
CHAPTER 10
The Voice in the Dark
Journal Entry: Rome, October 13, 1948
I had decided to go to bed early. I was exhausted from having been out the entire night before. I leaned back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I thought of how I had watched Alda’s life slip slowly away. She seemed so peaceful in her final moments, but I knew that wasn’t what was in her heart. She had been in despair, and she saw no way out.
I remembered the long walk to her home. I was obsessed over whether I would feel guilty after I took her life. I hadn’t felt any different after Bianca’s death. Maybe this time would feel different. But it didn’t. If anything, I felt somewhat happy for what I had done. She wasn’t in pain anymore, and if there was an afterlife then wasn’t she with her husband by now? Hadn’t I actually done her a favor by reuniting them? I wanted to tell others about it. Let them know how I had freed her from her pain. But they wouldn’t understand.
“I saw what you did to the woman,” I heard the voice say in the dark.
It startled me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I listened intently for the voice to speak again, wondering if I had imagined it like the moan outside Alda’s bedroom window. That had to be it. I was tired, more than tired. I had actually started to fall asleep, and the voice was nothing more than the beginning of a dream.
I sat up in bed and looked around the room. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was where it should be. My little table was against the wall opposite of my bed. My books were still on the table, exactly as I had left them. My trunk was pushed up against the other wall. The lid was closed, exactly as it had been. I looked over to the door. It was still shut tightly. It definitely hadn’t been opened. I would have heard the unmistakable squeak of the hinges.
“It will take more than that to get his attention,” the voice said.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
I was trembling now. This was no dream. Someone had indeed seen me, and they had undoubtedly followed me here. What did they want? Were they here for revenge? Were they here to arrest me, to blackmail me?
“I know how you hurt inside. You scream for his help, but he just ignores you.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
I looked around the room again and saw no one.
“I was there, watching you. Now I am here.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to help you, and in return you will help me.”
“How can you help me? How do you even know anything about me?”
“Because I was once you. I tried so hard to please him until I learned that he can’t be pleased.”
I reached under my bed and felt the comfort of the rock I had used to kill Alda. It was the only defense I had against this intruder.
“Do you hope to use that against me?” the voice asked.
I didn’t know what to say. What could I say?
“You don’t understand,” it said. “I want to help you understand.”
As it spoke, the voice seemed to move around the room, like it was coming from the mouth of a phantom.
“You can’t have the light without the dark. It’s a law of the universe. Even he can’t change that,” the voice continued. “You’re part of the darkness. You must embrace this role you were given to play. Your entire life you’ve been on the wrong path. That’s where your unhappiness comes from. He doesn’t see you because you’re in the darkness. You must enter the light, and he’ll finally notice you.”
“What must I do?” I asked.
“You must trick him. Make him think you’re of the light.”
“How?”
“A face. Bring me a face.”
CHAPTER 11
The Language of Christ
Present Day.
Marcus drove his car up to the front of his apartment building. Just as he assumed, there was no parking available this time of night. He hated not having his own driveway. He turned down the next corner and found a spot at the end of the street. Fortunately, he didn’t have anything like groceries to carry back.
Marcus walked the narrow sidewalk back to his apartment. Before he got to the staircase leading to the front door of the building, Marcus felt someone looking at him. He slowed down and glanced towards the opposite side of the street.
Leah Grey was standing on the sidewalk. She was wearing the same black dress he had seen her in at the cemetery. She was also still not wearing a coat. She should be freezing, but again she seemed completely unfazed by the cold air.
“Leah!” Marcus yelled.
He took a quick look to make sure there was no traffic and then headed across the street towards her. Leah turned quickly and began to walk away. That’s when he noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Why would she be dressed like this?
Marcus picked up his pace, but then Leah started to run. Marcus couldn’t believe how fast she was. He was having great difficulty keeping up with her. Leah turned a corner which Marcus knew led straight into an alley. This time he would get the chance to talk to her.
Marcus finally reached the corner and entered the alley, expecting to see Leah at the far end. But she was gone. The alley was completely empty. There was no where she could hide. No fire escape ladders she could climb. She had simply vanished like before.
He exited the alley and looked down the street in every direction. She was nowhere to be found.
Marcus unlocked his front door and entered his dark apartment. There was only the thin shaft of light from the street lamp outside. He shoved his keys into his front pocket and began to fumble for the light switch when he heard the hissing near his feet.
Marcus looked down and saw the black snake coiled in the shaft of light. The dark shape hissed at him again. He was certain it would strike out at his legs, so he took a quick step backwards, but he tripped over his own feet and fell into the hallway of the building.
He grabbed his gun out of the holster under his arm and headed back into the apartment, ready to blow the snake’s head clean off. He flipped on the light switch, but the snake was gone. He looked all around the room, terrified it would bite him before he got the chance to fire his gun. But it was nowhere to be found. Where the hell could it have gone? He searched the apartment for almost ten full minutes before he noticed the unfamiliar cardboard box on the kitchen table.
Marcus felt like an idiot as the forensics investigators searched his house. Several police cars were outside his apartment, and he had no doubt in his mind that the entire neighborhood was trying to look through his windows.
“The door was locked? No sign of forced entry?” Sergeant Ramsey asked.
Marcus sat on one end of his sofa. Angela was on the other. Ramsey sat in a chair across from them.
“The door was locked,” Marcus said, thinking that must have been the tenth time he reassured them he had not left the door wide open for the world.
Ramsey watched an animal control officer enter the apartment. The man wore thick leather gloves, and he held a short staff with a hook on the end of it.
“In the box, in the kitchen,” Ramsey said.
The animal control officer nodded his reply and walked into the open kitchen. Marcus and Angela had their back to it, but Ramsey had a perfect view.
“So you didn’t find the snake?” Ramsey asked Marcus.
“I searched everywhere for that damn thing.”
The animal control officer opened the box and reached into it with his staff. He hooked onto something and slowly removed a dark snake that was at least six feet long.
“You didn’t kill the snake and put it in that box?” Ramsey asked.
Marcus and Angela turned to see the animal control officer dump the snake into a plast
ic container. He then placed a lid on the container and sealed it shut.
“I never touched that box,” Marcus said. “I certainly didn’t drop a dead snake into it.”
One of the forensics investigators held the box open while another used a DSLR camera to photograph the contents. He then reached inside and carefully removed a black cloth. He laid the cloth gently on the kitchen table. He picked up his camera and took more photographs of the inside of the box.
“What’s in there?” Ramsey asked.
The forensics investigator, who was holding the box open, reached inside the box and carefully removed a leather-bound journal. Ramsey turned to Marcus.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen that before?”
Marcus shook his head. Why did he feel like Ramsey was interrogating him?
Angela and Sergeant Ramsey both stood and walked to the kitchen. The forensics investigator opened the book. Every page was filled with strange writing.
“Not English. That’s for sure,” the forensics investigator stated the obvious.
Angela glanced at the pages. It was unlike any writing she had ever seen.
“Find an expert who can translate. Maybe there’s someone at the university,” Ramsey said.
Angela nodded to Ramsey, who then decided he had seen enough and exited the apartment.
The forensics investigator closed the journal and took more photographs of its cover. Marcus finally walked over to the kitchen and, without touching it, looked at the journal. The three letters carved into the leather were faint but readable: MAI.
Marcus and Angela placed several calls to the local university. They were told the expert they should see was actually a professor at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. It took a few more calls before they were able to set up an appointment with a Professor Hutchins. They got Ramsey’s approval and set off on the three hour drive south.
The drive went slowly and neither said more than a few words on the entire trip. Both seemed overwhelmed by the violence that was taking their community by the throat and refusing to let go.
Marcus did his best not to show his fear at the killer having been in his home. How long had the MAI killer known Marcus was one of the lead homicide detectives on the case? Should Marcus temporarily move? He quickly dismissed that option. If MAI wanted him dead, he probably would be gone already.
Marcus thought back to his dream where he slowly bleeds to death in the snow. Did the dream actually mean anything? Was it a premonition of how he would go out at the hands of MAI? Or would his death be quick? Would Marcus end up with a bullet in the back of his head and be none the wiser? Was it possible his life would be over, and he wouldn’t even have the chance to recognize his last few moments as the end? Was it better to go that way?
He looked up and saw the interstate sign for the university’s exit. He turned to tell Angela, but she had seen it before him and was already applying her turn signal.
They drove through town and finally found a place to park. Marcus and Angela made their way across the college campus. Even though the university was well known throughout the country, this was the first time Marcus had ever set foot on the grounds. Marcus had expected to find the correct building easily, but the campus was so large he found himself turned around. They were lost, and there was so much snow on the ground, Marcus couldn’t wait to get back inside.
He looked for a student to ask for directions, but the campus seemed almost deserted. Marcus assumed the cold weather kept people from hanging around outside, and he and Angela must have arrived during class time.
Marcus wondered what their expert would look like. He had read his biography online at the university’s website. Professor Anthony Hutchins was an expert on ancient religions. He had published several books on the subject.
Marcus and Angela finally stumbled upon Hutchins’s building. It was an impressive red brick structure with several tall white columns guarding the front entrance. They entered through the main doors and, since there was a large backup at the elevator, walked the three flights of stairs.
It didn’t take them long to locate the professor’s classroom. The lesson had just ended seconds before, and students were filing out when Marcus and Angela arrived outside the door.
There were a few students still gathered around Professor Hutchins. The man was in his sixties, with thick, white hair and a flushed face. He was very animated and looked somewhat like a skinny Santa Claus without the beard and red outfit. He had a warm smile, and it was obvious his students liked him by the way they hung on to his every word.
Marcus and Angela waited patiently for the remaining students to depart.
“The guy’s got groupies,” Angela said.
Marcus laughed.
“Come on now. You can’t tell me you never sucked up to a teacher. You told me you were a 4.0 student,” he said.
“I never sucked up to them. I just threatened to shoot them if I didn’t get the score I wanted.”
Marcus laughed again. It felt good after the tension of the morning.
“Remind me never to teach a class you’re in.”
Finally the remaining students left. Marcus and Angela entered the classroom as Hutchins finished gathering up his notes and began placing them into his leather bag.
“Professor Hutchins?” Angela asked.
The professor didn’t look up. He assumed it was another student.
“Yes.”
“I’m detective Angela Darden. I called you this morning.”
The professor stopped what he was doing when he heard the word “detective.” He looked up at Marcus and Angela and gave them his warmest smile.
“Yes, what was the call about again?”
“About translating a document for us.”
“Oh, that’s right. What do you have?”
Angela handed the professor a folder stuffed with photocopied pages of the leather journal found in the box in Marcus’s kitchen. She had not copied the image of the cover which showed the letters MAI.
“We’re hoping you can make sense of this,” Angela said.
Hutchins opened the folder and began to silently scan the first page. A surprised, maybe even shocked, expression instantly filled his face.
“Where did you get this?” Hutchins asked.
“I’m afraid we can’t reveal that,” Marcus said.
“Do you realize what language this is?” Hutchins asked.
“We’re hoping you can tell us,” Angela said.
“It’s Aramaic.”
Hutchins looked for a response from Marcus or Angela. He didn’t get one.
“It’s the language of Christ,” he continued.
Marcus turned to Angela. That was not the answer either of them was expecting to hear.
“Is it something you can translate, or do you know someone who can?” Angela asked.
Hutchins looked at the manuscript again. He was clearly in awe of it, almost like he had just been handed the original copy of the Dead Sea Scrolls and he alone was being asked to make sense of it.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked again.
“It’s part of an ongoing investigation. That’s all we can say,” Angela said. “In fact, we must insist you share this with no one.”
Hutchins read the opening lines of the manuscript out loud.
“I am emptiness. I am loneliness. I am despair,” he read.
Marcus glanced at Angela. The case had just taken a bizarre and completely unexpected turn. Had the killer written those words himself? Or had he stolen the manuscript from someone else? Did he expect they would be able to have it translated? Who were they dealing with? The writer was obviously proficient in an ancient and extinct language. Where had he learned it?
Hutchins flipped through the pages. It was a lot of material.
“It will take me a few weeks to translate this many pages,” he said.
Marcus reached into his coat and removed a business card, which he handed to the professor.<
br />
“Please call us when you’ve completed the work.”
Hutchins looked at Marcus’s business card and then went back to reading the manuscript. He looked like a child who had just been given the world’s greatest toy on Christmas morning. He would be absorbed for days. Perhaps we would even cancel some of his classes to dedicate more time to the translation.
“Thank you for your time, professor,” Angela said.
Hutchins ignored her. Marcus indicated they should leave by nodding toward the doorway. They turned and headed out the classroom. Hutchins never noticed them exit. He continued to get lost in the ancient writing.
CHAPTER 12
The Ring
Donnie’s bar was crowded and noisy, and Angela always thought it smelled like stale beer. Ear-splitting music played over speakers that probably cost more than everything else in the bar combined. Every stool at the bar was taken and several people were doing their best to fight for the bartender’s attention.
The drive back from North Carolina had taken even longer because of a car accident on the interstate. She probably should have just gone back to bed, but she was wired and wanted a drink.
Marcus and Angela occupied a small booth near the back of the bar. Angela couldn’t think of a worse location to sit. The booth was near the women’s bathroom, and the door was slamming open and closed unceasingly since they had sat down. She was highly annoyed and couldn’t understand why Marcus always insisted they come to this establishment. Actually, “establishment” was too nice a word for this place. It was a dive. Better yet, a shit-hole.
An attractive waitress walked up to the table and placed two beer bottles. She was probably a student from the nearby college. Angela was going to ask for a chilled glass, but the waitress was slammed, and she headed off before Angela could open her mouth.
Angela looked across the table at Marcus, who seemed lost in thought. He had said even less on the drive back from the university than on the drive south. The news that the journal was written in Aramaic had shocked them both. The discovery had actually frightened her for some reason. It’s true she had been repulsed by the crime scenes, but they hadn’t scared her. She hadn’t felt personally threatened or endangered. She knew she could protect herself. But now she wasn’t so certain, especially since the killer had broken into Marcus’s apartment.
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