“The sins of the father are passed to the son,” the sixth mannequin said.
“He won’t stop killing. You can’t make him stop,” the first mannequin said.
Marcus jumped to his feet and ran to the first mannequin. He grabbed it by the head and threw the mannequin into the fire. But the mannequin only laughed at him.
Marcus ran to the next mannequin and threw it into the spreading fire. Soon all he could hear was the sound of their hideous laughter and the roar of the fire as it spread to the bookcase on the far wall. The dry paper of the old books caught quickly. The heat was unbearable now, and the white plastic of the mannequins began to melt even more.
“He won’t stop killing. You can’t make him stop,” the first mannequin repeated.
Marcus stumbled to the window that looked out to the woods behind the house. He saw Leah Grey standing at the edge of the woods. She stared up at him. Then she turned and entered the darkness of the woods.
Marcus looked back at his grandfather’s bedroom. The fire was now out of control, and it blocked the path to the doorway. He turned back to the window and unlatched the locks on the wooden frame. He struggled to push the large window open, but it wouldn’t budge. It must have been painted shut. Marcus banged against the frame with his fists, trying desperately to loosen the window. He struggled to open it again, his back muscles feeling like they would burst under the strain. But the window wouldn’t move.
Marcus stepped back and then kicked at the glass and the frame of the window. It burst open, and the cold winter air flooded into the room. The fresh oxygen fueled the fire even more, and the flames seemed to reach out to Marcus and try to grab him before he could escape.
Marcus continued to kick at the window until most of the jagged glass shards had fallen outside. The fire was so close his skin started to blister.
He climbed through the broken window and walked out onto the roof. He shuffled to the edge of the roof and looked down. The drop was at least twelve feet. Marcus grabbed the lip of the rain gutter and swung his body over the edge of the roof. His weight caused the old and rusty gutter to sag and start to pull away from the frame of the house. It sagged a few more inches and then held.
Marcus tried to relax his body, and then he let go of the gutter. He landed on the balls of his feet and rolled. The impact was jarring. There was an immediate sharp pain in his right knee, but he was grateful he hadn’t broken any bones.
He looked back at the house and saw flames shooting out of the broken window of his grandfather’s bedroom. The fire would soon engulf the entire house, but he didn’t care. If what he thought was true, the house should be destroyed. He only wished his grandfather was still alive and in the house tonight when it burnt. He deserved nothing less than the agony of being cooked alive.
Marcus tried to run towards the woods, but the pain in his knee was worse than he thought. He managed a pace slightly better than a walk but less than a jog. The pain intensified with each step, but he had to reach the cabin. He had blocked it from his mind for all these years, and now the memory of the mask of flesh was returning. This had been all about him. The sins of the father. They were coming back to haunt him. Someone had known about his grandfather. But who was it? It had to be his father. Marcus had talked to him just a few days ago. He knew with all certainty that wasn’t his body in the county morgue. He had not imagined their conversation. His father had inherited the thirst for murder, and he wanted Marcus to stop him. “I can’t make him stop,” the message had said. It was his father talking about this grandfather. He couldn’t make him stop. That was the basis of their falling out. His father had found evidence of the murders in the trunk. He must have confronted him about it, and that’s when Marcus’s grandfather made his father take part in the killings.
Marcus limped into the woods and saw Leah Grey standing in a small clearing. She was motionless and looking right at him, like she had been waiting for him to catch up. He started towards her, and she moved deeper into the woods, always looking behind her to make sure he was still there.
The woods got thicker the farther he went. Soon the low hanging branches were reaching out to him and scraping his face. Thin streams of blood began to flow down his cheeks. And his knee by now pounded tremendously. He could barely move now. He felt like he was finishing the final mile of a marathon. It had taken forever to get to this point, and he didn’t know if he could go on.
He had been following Leah for a few hundred yards when he saw them. The white mannequins seemed to glow among the trees. They were suddenly everywhere, surrounding him, engulfing him, and something about them sent waves of terror through his body.
Leah zigzagged through the trees, and eventually Marcus found himself entering a large clearing. Leah had vanished, but he saw someone else. Christie was tied to a tree. A wooden box surrounded her. Her head was slumped against her chest, and he couldn’t tell from this distance whether she was alive or dead.
He ran up to her and then heard the hiss of the snake. He saw the snake just a few feet from Christie’s legs. He removed his gun and took careful aim. He fired twice. The first shot struck the snake in its head. The second bullet blew the head the rest of the way off the body. He stepped into the box and felt for Christie’s pulse. It was faint, but she was still alive.
Marcus untied her from the tree. He removed his coat and laid it on the ground. Then he lifted her out of the box and placed her gently on the coat and wrapped it around her fragile body.
He was enraged. How could his father do this to a child? The man was a monster, just like his grandfather had been. What would he do when he found his father? Would he kill him? Could he kill him?
Marcus turned and limped as fast as he could towards the place he knew he would find his father. He walked out of the clearing and went deeper into the woods. The mannequins seemed to lay out a path for him. There must have been dozens of them.
After a few hundred yards Marcus saw it in a second clearing: the cabin. He had not laid eyes on it for over twenty-five years, but it didn’t look any different today than it had when he was just a boy. His gun was drawn as he approached the cabin. There was a yellow light burning on the outside of the cabin just beside the door. He could hear the hum of a small gas-powered generator behind the cabin.
Marcus slowly walked to the wooden door. The pain in his knee was getting unbearable, and now his back was hurting from the awkward walk. His blistered hands began to shake, and he didn’t know if it was from intense rage or fear or both.
He tried the door knob and found it unlocked. He pushed it open, and the rusty hinges squealed, alerting whoever was inside to his presence. He prepared for a gunshot but nothing came.
There were three bare light bulbs dangling on chains from the ceiling. They illuminated the frightening scene. The ancient writing from the journal covered the walls, floor, and ceiling of the cabin. Classical music played from a record player that sat on a small table in the corner of the room. It was the same sad song he had heard over the phone in the motel room.
On one side of the cabin was a series of large glass tanks. Dozens of snakes were coiled up in the tanks. But the most gruesome sight was in the dead center of the cabin.
Lying on top of a wooden table was the decaying body of his grandfather, David Carter. The suit he had been buried in was gone. A snake slithered across the body. It faced Marcus, like it was greeting him with a nod of its diamond-shaped head.
Marcus walked to the center of the cabin and looked down at his grandfather. He thought he would scream when his grandfather’s eyes darted open.
“He won’t stop,” David Carter said.
His voice was labored and coarse.
The dead man turned his head towards Marcus.
“He’ll never stop,” he repeated.
Marcus took a step backwards.
“The sins of the father are passed to the son,” the female voice said.
Marcus turned and saw Leah Grey standing behind him
in the doorway of the cabin. Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes burned with hatred.
“What have you done?” Marcus asked.
“I didn’t do these things,” she said.
Marcus raised his gun with his trembling hand and fired repeatedly at Leah. The bullets smashed into her body, tearing holes in her clothing. But they had no effect on her. There was no blood, no screams, no effect whatsoever.
Leah simply raised her arms and bowed her head. Suddenly the glass tanks exploded, sending shards throughout the cabin and stinging Marcus’s face and body all over.
The snakes slid out of the broken tanks and made their way onto the floor. Soon dozens of snakes covered the cabin, and they blocked Marcus’s escape.
Marcus turned to Leah and her body was convulsing. Her throat expanded and soon more snakes were coming out of her mouth. They fell onto the floor and joined the mass of snakes from the broken tanks. Marcus remembered the nightmare of Leah in his home. He had seen the snake come out of her throat. Now it was happening again.
Marcus ejected his empty ammunition clip and jammed another one into the gun. He fired over and over again at the snakes, but there were too many, and they were too difficult to hit. He fired until his clip was out. He had no ammunition left and it was just a matter of time before the snakes got to him.
Marcus ran across the cabin, doing his best to avoid the snakes. Leah blocked his path. He grabbed her and tried to push her out of the way. But she threw him against the wall with amazing strength. He landed hard on his injured knee and struggled to get off the floor.
A snake bit him on the forearm. He pulled his arm back, but the snake sank its fangs into him a second time. Marcus stood up and staggered across the cabin. He was bit in the lower leg when he was just a few steps from the open door. He felt the fangs sink into the flesh of his leg, felt the hot venom surge into his blood stream. The snake struck him again and again.
Leah had moved aside and was no longer blocking the door. Their eyes met as he passed her. She knew the sins of the father. She had helped his father and now she had lured Marcus to the cabin so he could meet his fate.
Marcus limped out of the cabin and collapsed. He crawled across the dirt, trying to get as far from Leah and the cabin as possible. He knew large amounts of the poison flowed through his body. There was no way he would make it out of the woods alive. Who would take Christie back to safety? He never should have gone to the cabin. He should have carried Christie home himself.
His body convulsed from the poison. His skin felt like it was on fire. Marcus rolled on to his back. He saw the trees reaching for the dark sky. Then he noticed the snow falling towards him. He thought back to another dream, the dream of his death. He wasn’t wearing a coat, and he was freezing. He had been too slow when the time came. He had assumed he was too slow to draw his weapon. But now he realized he had been too slow to see the truth. He thought he would be prepared. He thought nothing could hurt him. He had been wrong from the start.
Marcus thought of his wife. Would she be there on the other side? Would she greet him, or would she turn on him in disgust? Could she forgive him?
The snow was coming down harder now. Marcus was no longer cold. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. As his vision began to dim, he thought he saw Angela enter the clearing by the cabin. Or was it Leah? He didn’t know. He just prayed they were real.
CHAPTER 40
I Am Despair
Angela stared out the window. Tears began to flow.
Dr. Bachman studied her.
“You were the one who found Marcus?” Dr. Bachman asked.
She hesitated a moment, as if remembering her discovery of his body in the woods. Then she nodded her head.
“And Christie?”
“She was all right. Frightened, of course. But she was all right.”
“Is she living with you now?”
“No, I couldn’t take care of her.”
“So where is she?”
“With her grandparents, I assume.”
“You haven’t seen her?”
Angela looked at him. She didn’t take his question as an accusation that she was a bad aunt. But why hadn’t she visited Christie? Was she ashamed that she had ultimately failed both of Christie’s parents?
“Aside from Marcus and Christie, what did you discover in those woods?”
“We unearthed the bodies of over a dozen women buried around the cabin. We found the remains of Leah Grey. According to the pathology report, she had been in the ground for over a year,” Angela said.
Dr. Peter Bachman watched her from across the table.
“Marcus claimed to have seen Leah Grey at several different times throughout the investigation,” he reminded her.
“Is this when you ask me if I believe in ghosts, or are you asking if I think Marcus was suffering from hallucinations?”
Dr. Bachman ignored her question and opened a file on the table. He briefly looked through it.
“The first several victims of MAI had all been videotaped by Bob Ingalls. The pattern changed though after you apprehended Mr. Ingalls.”
“It became personal at that point. The victims then became either people I knew or Marcus knew,” she said.
“But it was always personal, wasn’t it?”
Angela didn’t know how to answer that. It was personal. She knew that now, but it terrified her to think that.
“The murders matched the pattern of the victims of Marcus’s grandfather, David Carter,” Dr. Bachman continued.
“If there ever were such murders to begin with. We did an extensive background search on David Carter. He immigrated from Italy to the United States. When he got here, he had his name legally changed from David Lombardi to David Carter,” Angela said.
“Had Lombardi been a priest at any point?”
“There was no record of a David Lombardi or a David Carter ever having been a priest at Vatican City or any other part of Italy. There were also no reported crimes matching those described in the journal, nor was there any record of a priest named Father Moretti being murdered,” Angela said. “But they were allegedly committed a long time ago. Records can be incomplete or just plain missing. It doesn’t mean the murders didn’t happen.”
“Did you do a handwriting analysis of the journal?”
“It didn’t match known writings of either David Carter or his son Frank Carter. There is also no proof that either of them knew or had studied Aramaic.”
“That is the one thing I haven’t been able to understand. It would be easy to write the journal in another language. But Aramaic?”
“Did you actually read the translation of the journal?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know the answer to that question. The demon told him how.”
“So you’re telling me you believe in demons, now?” Dr. Bachman asked.
“I’m saying I can’t think of another explanation.”
Dr. Bachman studied her. He looked down at his hands which were folded neatly and resting on the table. He seemed to be pondering something for several long moments. Then he looked up again.
“When did Marcus tell you about the young boy in the woods?”
“It was shortly before my brother was killed,” Angela said.
“And what was your reaction?”
“Stunned. I couldn’t believe something so horrible could happen to him. I understand though why he would suppress it. I would have done the same.”
“The mind is powerful. We’re really only just beginning to understand its true capabilities. It’s always trying to protect us, and sometimes it has to lie to us to do that,” Dr. Bachman said.
Angela looked at him, confused. Lie to us? What the hell was Bachman talking about?
“Do you know that people who suffer from Multiple Personality Disorder can sometimes have different sets of handwriting for each personality?” he asked.
Dr. Bachman waited for a response, but he didn’t get one
.
“David Carter may have in fact written that journal, but the handwriting might not have matched other documents he had written. The same could be said for his son Frank Carter. Or even his grandson Marcus,” he continued.
“Marcus?”
“The murders stopped after the death of Marcus.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting he had anything to do with them,” Angela said.
“Let’s review the facts. Marcus routinely saw Leah Grey, a woman who had been dead for at least a year.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be on a case like this,” she said. “It gets to you. People sometimes crack.”
“So you acknowledge that he was losing his mental faculties?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying we were both under a great deal of pressure.”
“But did that make you see and talk to people who weren’t really there?” Dr. Bachman asked.
Angela didn’t answer. Instead she looked out the window again, trying to gain the comfort of seeing the world outside. The sky was blue again. The gray winter had passed. She needed to be out there. That’s where she belonged.
“What about Marcus’s conversation with his father? The man was lying on a steel table in a county morgue. There was no way Marcus could have talked to him.”
Angela turned back to Dr. Bachman. She was getting frustrated. The man was an idiot. Didn’t he know evidence could be falsified?
“There’s an easy explanation for that. The dental records were manipulated. They had to be. It wouldn’t be hard for MAI to switch the names on the records. A child could do it,” Angela said.
Dr. Bachman ignored the statement. He looked at her intently. There was something about his eyes. They seemed scared or apprehensive. What was he holding back?
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