by Brandon Enns
"I don't need your help.” Eli didn't intend to come off as rude.
"Oh no, no. Just got some paperwork I'm behind on. Inventory day is coming too soon. Maybe it will be work that drives me insane."
They shared an awkward silence, and Eli forced a wooden smile before putting his welding mask back down. Dennis continued to his office in the back.
Dennis had no idea what Eli had done, what he would proceed to do, what he was. Using him to gain his own freedom went against his moral code, but sometimes a man had to bend the rules to do the right thing.
As he continued to weld, bright torch sizzling around metal, he thought of Derek. Their battle had been a spirited one.
7
The blood marking was nearly symmetrical, the icy white layer on the ground indented from melting down. The scribbling was a star inside a circle, attempted horns drawn inside the star. It was far from perfect, but clear enough. From what she had seen on television, it was satanic in nature.
Brian bent at the waist, expressionless, then charmingly hocked a loogie, the snotted wad making a bullet hole in the snow. He always found a way to be disgusting, no matter the setting.
Not only had they been introduced to a murderer, he was speaking to them with confidence. Not in her wildest dreams could she have been working a case like this. God only knew the kind of monster that would doodle a sketch in the snow with his victim's blood. With Baker's recent departure from prison, her assumption was immediate.
Brian lowered down on one knee to get a closer look at the drawing in the snow. With a quick Internet search on their phones, they quickly deduced that it was the Sigil of Baphomet, an official symbol for the Church of Satan. "Well, you were looking for something exciting. How does this work for you?" asked Brian.
Her thoughts were still marinating, and an unintentional slip of the tongue followed. "Interesting."
"Sure."
"Is it just us on this?" she asked.
"Just us."
“Because I figured that-”
“MC has their plate full. They can’t put their investigation aside for this.”
She figured it was odd that Brian hadn't put Major Crimes on it from the get-go or at least one of the senior officers with more pedigree. Why was she there? Perhaps this was her shot. Maybe Brian wasn't that bad after all. Maybe he truly was grooming her.
Brian turned to a couple of officers behind them who were consoling the distraught girlfriend. She was trembling, and her face was blank. "You guys didn't spot any traffic out this way?" he asked.
The officer responded. "No, we were breaking up a house party in town. Didn't hear of any bush parties, so we stayed out of the country spots."
Jennifer addressed the girl with a softer version of her voice, unnatural and whispery. "What time did you get here last night?"
Her ghostly face transitioned from confusion to trepidation. Tears came flooding out. "About nine, I think. Or maybe it was ten?" She began to sob. "I don't know!" she shouted, fixated on the blood in the snow.
"And Derek wasn't in the house?" Jennifer stepped in close and touched her arm gently, trying her best to comfort her even though it wasn't her forte.
"No. I pulled into the drive and sat in my truck for maybe five minutes to send some texts. Then I let myself in. I was maybe inside for ten minutes before I checked...out here."
"And you didn't hear or see anyone else?"
"Nothing, no. Who would do something like this?" she covered up her face. "What does that thing on the ground
mean?"
Jennifer noticed that Brian hadn't left his spot, still staring down at the bloody sigil. He began tracking the footprints leading around the shed. She turned her attention back to the poor girlfriend. "It could just be an injury, but he may be held captive right now." He was most likely dead.
"You don't think...that he's—he's been killed?" Her voice was shaky.
"I honestly don't know. We need more information." She handed the girl her card. "We have your verbal statement, but we’ll get you to come in to our office for a written one. I’ll call in a couple days. But if you think of anything at all in the meantime, you call me, okay?"
She nodded and wiped her nose. The officers escorted the girl, leaving Jennifer and Brian alone at the crime scene.
"Got something here,” Brian said, peeking around the shed. With a latex glove on, he picked up several fragments of wood. "Outside looks glossy. Baseball bat maybe? Why not use aluminum?"
He walked back over to the bloodied snow and showed Jennifer the splinters.
She knelt back down to examine the blood. She shivered from the cold.
"You all right there, West Coast girly."
She hated when that smug smirk infected his face. Yes, she was from British Columbia originally. The story was long and filled with resentment for her father. His lips had never touched a World's Greatest Dad coffee mug.
He had become obsessed with his position of authority within the RCMP. He had worked his way up the chain of
command over the years, through some gutty work, earning the respect of his commanding authorities. And when she was nearing graduation, he finally used the word 'forbid' with Jennifer. He refused to support her decision to become an RCMP officer. Her mother had told her countless times that it was because he wanted her to be safe, that he loved her, but he had never been able to say it out loud or show it.
Boohoo, daddy wasn't sensitive enough. Poor Jen. No, that wasn't the case at all. All she ever required was for him to spend time with her mother, who was way too good for him. She didn't need a game of catch in the backyard. She needed him to give her the okay to go to depot.
Truth was, he didn't want his legacy tarnished by his child's future performance in the field. It all came boiling to the surface, until finally, she revealed her sexuality. A lack of attention and support soon became an inability to look her in the eyes. Their relationship was over. He sickened her. What kind of man would turn his back on his own daughter, one who wanted to serve and protect her country the way he had?
"Call me girly one more time," she said.
Brian's smirk wriggled upward like a caterpillar. "Oh, she's got sass today."
Jennifer was about to pull out her gloves from her jacket pocket but decided against it.
"You need to warm up in the car?" he pressed.
"No, I'm good."
Brian appeared satisfied. "Well, it's some satanic shit, right?"
"I think so. Can't say I expected to work on some loony cult murder in Naicam, Saskatchewan."
"So he took the body."
"He might still be alive." She wasn't sure why she said it; she didn't believe it herself.
"He's not. Too much blood." Brian pointed over Jennifer's shoulder, where a pool of red colored the white ground.
"Bootprints?"
"We can try and find a match. Don't expect we'll find anything," Brian said.
"Start with the boots and tire tracks. Let forensics look for any other traces of blood. Any theories?" asked Jennifer.
Brian looked around the farmyard. His black eyebrows were frosted on the tips. "Not yet. We should check to see if there is any land up for sale around these parts."
"Bidding war doesn't fit devil worship, does it?"
"I dunno. Might. It's a start."
"Country folk scribbling blood in the snow." It all still felt surreal to her. Was it wrong that she was excited?
"Country folk can be crazy too."
"This is messed up."
"Probably just a normal murder dressed up as something else. Don't get your panties in a wad."
Okay, asshole. The butt end of my gun would fit his dimpled chin nicely. "Hey, I forgot to ask. How's that P90X working for you?"
"You just blatantly attack me for being funny? Jesus, Allen, I'm sorry I offended you."
"Sorry boss. I get worked up sometimes, being a woman and all. It's probably hormones."
"That's okay. I'm gonna need you
to have a tough stomach on this."
"I'll dig deep."
"You might be right though." He sighed. "I don't like
seeing shit like this at a murder scene."
"We'll need a behavioral assessment."
Brian's eyes were lost on the blood. "Yeah, I'll have them draw something up. Christ sake, this better be the first and last."
"Serial killer on the prairies," said Jennifer.
Brian shook his head. "Has a nice fucked up ring to it."
***
Eli sat in his parked car smoking a cigarette, baseball gloves on, bat at his side. He was in a neighborhood called Evergreen. Nice enough area, whatever "nice" meant. Most of the homes were one and the same, no sense of originality, only a sad state of conformity.
Most people had lost the war in Eli's mind. The war against themselves. In a world of desperation for equality, acceptance, validation, mankind had lost its individuality and the desire to be original. Every single soul tossed in a blender and chewed up, ground into a colorless liquid. People trying to be someone else, no longer equipped to look themselves in the mirror and accept what they really were, for better or for worse. The concept that this world was all made for us, for each individual person...the ego on people disgusted Eli. And within everyone's little world, the universe supposedly catered to their needs, the untrue existence of society being seen by fools. Society, controlling, dictating, the rare few trying to break through its grips. The power-hungry created it, fools followed its rules, and the rich prospered off it. There was a place for order, for justice, for good, most just couldn't understand where. They were too preoccupied with being somebody.
As he looked down at his Patsy Cline cassette, ready to take
his second, Eli's mind wandered back...his home.
***
Eli, age twelve, sat up in his bed. The thought of sitting there with all of his classmates looking at him made his toes curl. His teacher would always give him funny looks when he gave answers that were correct. It was a look somewhere between confusion and realization that she was wrong and he was right. Ms. Walston didn't like that. She didn't like him. How could he accept her failed teachings as correct, submitting to her ignorance? He knew his classmates hated him, but he still believed they deserved a proper education.
Eli's foster mother Sarah was a kind, selfless woman. Sarah was always so busy taking care of five kids while working as a nurse. Her eyes always looked so tired. Eli knew that was because she cried sometimes. He had walked in on her in the bathroom once.
Sarah understood Eli. Understood how his mind functioned. She treated him like an adult. But Sarah didn't know of the beast growing inside of him. He was fearful of his own thoughts sometimes. Sarah had taught him to pray when he was upset so he would try to do so, but his sinful desires would disconnect him from God.
He knew she would be coming up the stairs soon. Eli was waiting for those creaking footsteps, digging his nails into the headboard. The creaking started. He looked down at his right hand, blood leaking from one of his cracked nails.
He heard a knock on his door, then she entered. Please don't make me go to school.
"Eli. You're gonna miss the bus."
Phys-ed. They showered after class now. James Kusler would have a new joke for Eli today. Eli was an easy target
with his underdeveloped genitalia and overdeveloped brain. It would start with a wet towel snapping into his ass, their sinister grins and deep pubescent laughter filling his ears as he covered up in the corner. James, Travis, and Cam with their exposed packages, plump and sheltered with thick and curly black hair. They would feed off each other’s wordplay for his thing. Their laughter would be loud.
"Please don't make me."
"I told you, I'd homeschool you myself, but I just don't have the time. I need you to be strong and go to school."
"It doesn't feel right there."
"What doesn't feel right?"
He couldn't think of an explanation that wouldn't scare his foster mother. She deserved better than to be bothered with his sickness.
"I just—I like it here."
"I'll tell your teacher you're still sick, but this is the last time, son. You, me, and Frank will all have a sit-down and talk about a plan for next week. Okay?"
Frank was his foster dad. He was a good man. He was very quiet though, which sat just fine with Eli. Every night, if Eli was out in the living room with the others, Frank would catch him with a glance and smile and wink at him. It made Eli feel important, and he was grateful for that.
Eli nodded at Sarah's request and rolled over to look out his window. In the not so far distance, there was a snow hill that kids would always sled down. Unfortunately, everyone had gone to school, so he couldn't watch.
Eli crept down the stairs to see what Sarah and Rodney were doing. Little Rodney, only five years old, was different from others. The doctors said they weren't sure yet what was
wrong with his development, but he was no retard, as many had labeled him. He and Eli had always shared a bond and were able to communicate with one another, just as Sarah was able. His speech was simply delayed, and when he had troubles saying what he needed to say, it frustrated him. Who wouldn't be troubled by that?
Sarah was working away on a puzzle with Rodney before standing and attempting to kiss his forehead, but he pulled away. "No kisses."
"I have to go, buddy. I have to work."
"No, no, no! Momma stay."
"I won't be gone long. I'll be back before you know it."
"Nooooooo!"
"Rodney, it’s okay."
"Five, six, seven, eight, nine..."
"Ten," said Sarah.
"Mom says ten."
"Oh hey! How old are you again?"
"Rodney five."
"Your birthday is soon. But you knew that, I guess."
"Rodney six."
"And when is your birthday?"
"January twelve. Momma Sarah August fifteen."
Sarah smiled and tried to pinch his cheek, but he pulled away again.
The babysitter, Chelsea, stepped into the room to take over.
"Hey, Sarah."
"Hi Chelsea, how is it out there?"
"It's actually nice. You'll still need your winter coat though."
"Roger that."
She turned to Rodney, who was not liking what he was seeing, his little eyes darting back and forth.
"Okay, I gotta go, pal."
"No, no, no!"
"You're gonna hang out with Chelsea. You love Chelsea."
"Song?"
Sarah sighed and looked at her watch. "Okay, one song."
Rodney was beaming with excitement.
Sarah turned on the CD player. Patsy Cline's “I Fall to Pieces” came on. Sarah waved Rodney over and they started to dance. Rodney reached for Chelsea's hand to come join in on the festivities. The three of them laughed and swayed around awkwardly. Rodney's smile was terribly cute.
Sarah's mother had passed down all of her Patsy Cline albums to her. She had said the odd time her mother would listen to Johnny Cash, in private though. She had felt a tad shameful for liking such provocative outlaw music. But Patsy, her voice was powerful, elegant, and classic. Her music was very important to Sarah. Sarah's mother must have been important to her too, Eli thought.
A laugh escaped his lips, drawing attention from Sarah. His smile faded when they locked eyes. He was letting her down. But, she didn't give him a scolding glare, instead, she extended her hand and waved him over to join. He nodded his head no and clutched his knees. He had read about the effects of love, and based on the way Sarah looked at him, he had concluded that there was a strong possibility that she loved him. But he couldn't be sure.
She insisted he join with her arm outstretched, and then she wagged her tongue at him teasingly. He wasn't good at
being silly. Sarah wiggled her hips while her tongue remained out, her face scrunched up all goofy-like. Another laugh evaded him and it fel
t good. Sarah looked more youthful when she danced. Her hair swayed back and forth over her eyes.
It was possible that he loved her back.
***
His gaze fell back on the house of Danny Adams. A burst of dust blew through his vents catching his eyes as it settled on his otherwise clean dashboard. Shit. His wipes were back at home, and nothing else would suffice. He had his own homemade solution mix that added a nice glossy shine to his interior, without leaving a soapy residue like that Armor All garbage. He thought about wiping the dust off with his finger, but that would have run the risk of a fingerprint smudge.
He took five deep breaths in and out to calm himself.
Eli needed his focus for Danny Adams. This time he'd have to be stealthier, catching him when he wasn't at all ready. If he could add to the suspense by making the subtlest of sounds, toying with Danny, that would be all the better.
Danny's girlfriend wouldn't be back until she was finished with her night shift at St. Paul's Hospital. When following her, he had found himself becoming attached to her daily routines. He had observed her daily schedule and her movements inside and out.
Images of her strained, fearful face, desperately calling out, pleading for her life as he stood above her. The fantasies tickled him just right. But she was to be left untouched, for now.
8
Jennifer walked into Brian's office. His desk was a mess of wrappers and manila folders, one of which was stained with what she assumed was ketchup. The call had just come in, and her stomach was in knots, the good kind. Brian was bent over, holding an uncomfortable yoga pose, his shapely rear end up in the air.
"We got another one," she said.
Brian switched to downward dog.
"Nice." Jennifer discovered mold on the ceiling tile that was much more appealing than his fat ass.