by Vic Kerry
“The Bible. St. Peter tells the recipients of his divine letter that the Devil goes around like this. In this case, he is making a lot of noise that we’re not going to be able to keep quiet much longer, Dr. Shrove.”
“What can I do to stay safe?”
“Leave town.”
“I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that Satan can go anywhere. So leaving town isn’t going to cut it,” Ashe said. He didn’t much like the idea of running away when people he cared about might still be in harm’s way.
“I don’t literally think that the Devil is after you, but I do think there are people who believe they are doing his bidding who are. They aren’t everywhere,” Harrington said. “I suppose you could stay at home and not go out unless it is absolutely necessary.”
“Cybil and I had already planned that.”
“Then I will let you go. I would suggest prayer to you, Dr. Shrove, even if you don’t believe in the Devil.” Harrington stood up.
The holy man must have been slumping in his seat because once he was fully standing, he towered over Ashe. The archbishop held his hand out to be shook again. Ashe stood and did so.
“I will send Father Smalls to stay with you as soon as he gets out. Expect him later this evening.”
“How is that?”
“The woman found murdered had sex shortly before her death. Evidence shows that the partner wore a latex condom.”
“And?”
“Father Smalls has a very bad allergy to latex. It blisters his skin as if he was burned. No blistering anywhere on his body. He couldn’t have been the man in the video.”
“That’s a relief,” Ashe said, but he wasn’t sure if it really was.
“Be careful, Dr. Shrove, and remember that the Church is looking out for your interest.”
Ashe nodded to the archbishop and left the office. Something didn’t seem quite right. Everything felt a little too convenient. He decided to keep it to himself until he had more time to ponder on things. After all he was a scientist who made a living solving complex problems; this wouldn’t prove too strenuous.
Smalls sat in the cramped visitation area of the jail. It smelled like sweat and other things he hadn’t thought about in a very long time. The fact that he was the fifth person to sit in the place in the last hour and a half didn’t help things. He watched other prisoners go in and then some woman go in after. The smell pulled at him. Old habits and longings came back to him despite how long he had kept them under wraps. He hoped they’d bring in his guest soon.
The door opened, and one of the guards let Archbishop Harrington into the room. The archbishop wore street clothes, which made Smalls happy. The last thing he needed was for other prisoners to see a church official coming to see him. They already accused him of being a child molester, even though he and the guards had assured them that he was in on suspicion of murder. Harrington sat in the wooden chair across from him.
“It stinks in here,” the archbishop said.
“It’s the smell of visitation in jail,” Smalls said. “Lifelong churchmen, like you, wouldn’t recognize it.”
“I know what it is,” Harrington said. “I might have spent the majority of my life in the church, but I wasn’t born a priest.”
Smalls laughed. He wandered what Harrington wanted. The judge should have already let him out. The evidence for his release was stronger than that for his continued incarceration.
“Are you getting me out?” he asked.
“Not at this moment. I am assured that you will be out before much longer. Definitely before tomorrow. I have come to give you a new assignment.”
“Moving me out of your archdiocese?”
“On the contrary, I need you here more than ever.” Harrington gave a sinister smile. Smalls never liked to see him do that. It ran chills deep inside him. “When you get out, I want you to stay with Dr. Shrove.”
“Why him?”
“He came by St. Mary’s today looking for one of your books,” Harrington said.
“I told him to. I need it.”
“We’ve removed all your books that could cause you trouble.”
“So why do you want me to stay with Ashe then?”
“Because he needs the kind of protection I feel only you can offer. Of everyone in this archdiocese, I have the greatest confidence in your abilities to serve the church to the fullest.”
Smalls nodded his head. He knew that he was the only expert in psychoreligious phenomena for three hundred miles or more, but still something seemed off.
“I need my books if I’m going to figure this all out.”
“Heretical books aren’t going to help you. All they can do is make things worse. I won’t let that happen.” Harrington stood up. “If you’re good on the outside, I might see if you can’t look at those books for a few hours.” He pushed the door open and walked from the room. “If you behave.”
The door swung closed, and Smalls sat alone in the foul-smelling room again. The essence of it overwhelmed him. He needed to get laid; it was the only thing that might clear his mind.
Security Camera: Storage Facility, Michigan Avenue, Mobile, AL, 3:43 p.m. CST
The swarthy man stands in front of a large float. The face sculpted onto the float snarls in a frozen look of either pain or ecstasy. The eyes screw up to the ceiling and the tongue protrudes. The swarthy man smiles and holds his arms out. The man wearing an Alabama Tech hooded sweatshirt walks to him. They embrace.
The swarthy man points at the float and flourishes his hand around the room as if showing off other things. Although the hood is over the other man’s head, his nodding in agreement can be seen. The two men walk around the large room. The swarthy one points out different things along the way. Several props and costumes for a parade line the periphery. Every now and then the hooded man touches them or nods.
The two men then step back to the main float. The swarthy one perches on a stool and begins to talk animatedly, using his hands to punctuate different things. The hooded man listens. After the conversation ends, the swarthy one snaps his fingers and waves to someone on the periphery. Marianne walks to them in a stiff and almost artificial movement. She pulls her clothes off, and the hooded man takes advantage of this while the swarthy man watches and smiles.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ashe tried to watch television, but the only show he could find bored him. All he could think about was his conversation with Archbishop Harrington. Why was he so insistent that he and Cybil allow Father Smalls to stay with them? Why the special attention on him? Harrington raised more questions than he answered.
“When is Father Smalls supposed to get here?” Cybil walked in from the kitchen carrying a cup of tea.
“I don’t know. All the archbishop said was that he would be getting out today and would come here to stay with us.”
She sat down beside him on the couch. The cinnamon smell of her tea wafted to him. The aroma seemed to make him feel at ease just a bit. He never kept that kind of tea in his house, but once he had been warned that if he couldn’t leave town to stay inside as much as possible they went to get some essential groceries.
“How do you feel about all of this?” she asked.
Ashe turned off the television and gave her his full attention. “I’m not comfortable with this at all. I don’t even know why I’m listening to him.”
“He’s an archbishop.”
“I’m not Catholic. I have no reason to listen to this guy, as far as I know he’s the one out to get us.”
“You trust Father Smalls though?”
He looked at her. “Do I? I did, but now I just don’t know. Is there anyone I can trust?”
“Me.”
“Huh.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You discovered the file on Marianne’s computer and heard the fir
st warning call.” Ashe looked at her. He didn’t really know why he was saying these things. She wasn’t doing anything to him. He was pretty sure of that. “You’re the one who supposedly heard Erik talking with those strange men.”
She looked down and then back up at him. Her eyes flamed with anger. “How dare you? I’m just as scared as you are. I had a dream about Hortense dying the same as you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m stuck here as much as you are, and they ransacked my apartment.”
“Brimstone.”
“What?” she asked.
“Before I left him the other night, Smalls told me that sometimes sulfur was called brimstone. I think he was trying to tell me something instead of just being crazy like I’d thought.”
“I remember you mentioning that. Do you think he meant something like the fire and brimstone in Hell?”
“I don’t know, but we smelled sulfur in your apartment and in Erik’s office. The archbishop talked about the Devil. Maybe there is something like that going on.”
“I don’t know.”
“But Father Smalls could have caused that smell. I remember being able to buy stink pellets as a kid. It smelled just like rotten eggs,” Ashe said. He chuckled. “I bought some one time and burst one outside the door of my English class in the eleventh grade. The whole room stank most of the period. My teacher was furious. She kept pacing back and forth holding a lacy handkerchief under her nose.” He held his hand up to show miniscule height. “She was like that tall, but a pure bulldog. It was great. I think she almost vomited everywhere.”
“Why didn’t she just open the window?”
“It was the wintertime and too cold.”
Ashe took a moment to enjoy the paranoia-free thinking before turning back to his and Cybil’s situation. She appeared to enjoy the moment of levity as well. He wondered how many people had ever been faced with a predicament like his. So many people around him had ended up dead, including his fiancée who came back to life and disappeared into the city. He wished that he could do that, just evaporate into the winter fog.
A loud rap on the door focused Ashe back to reality. Cybil jumped up off the sofa, spilling a little of her sweet-smelling tea. She looked at him, and he back at her. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. The wood on the door cracked again as someone knocked on it. Cybil moved to answer it, but Ashe took her by the arm and shook his head. He would answer the door. If something horrible was on the other side of it, he didn’t want to risk it getting to her first. His throat dried out as he stepped to the door. The handle felt cold in his hand, almost too cold. He was afraid for just a slip of a moment that his hand might stick to the metal.
“Who is it?” The words barely came out louder than a whisper over his parched lips.
“Father Smalls. Please let me in.”
Ashe took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. He flipped the lock with his thumb and opened the door. Father Smalls stood on the doorstep. He held a green suitcase in one hand. A leather duffle bag hung from his shoulder. He looked tired but no worse for wear. Ashe stepped aside without a word to let the priest inside. He closed the door behind Smalls and locked it.
“We’ve been expecting you,” Cybil said. “I was getting worried.”
Smalls set both of the bags on the floor. “Why is that?”
“You seemed like you were running late, although I had no idea when you would get here.”
“I stopped by my apartment to get some clothes and take a shower. I found it rather turned over.” He looked at Ashe who still stood behind him. “I guess the police had to search the place.”
“That’s what Archbishop Harrington said,” Ashe said. “The way he made it sound he searched it too.”
“Yes, I am afraid he found a couple of my books. That is unfortunate.”
“Why?” Cybil asked.
“Because I wasn’t supposed to have such texts. I tried my hardest to keep them hidden and secret, but when you’re in jail accused of murder, you can’t go back and clean your office up to hide any contraband.” He looked at her mug. “Is that coffee or tea?”
“Cinnamon tea,” she said. “Would you like a cup? I’m sure the water in the kettle is still hot enough.”
“That would be nice.” Smalls looked at Ashe. “Where can I put my things?”
Ashe looked at the bags. He didn’t want to stick the priest in Marianne’s room since he wasn’t sure that Smalls was innocent in her death and resurrection. The thought of him and Cybil sleeping in there didn’t sit well with him either.
“In the spare bedroom. Ignore the boxes all over the floor. I’ve been clearing out some of Marianne’s stuff. She kept it all in there.”
Smalls looked toward the other room and back to Ashe. The priest’s eyes seemed piercing. He didn’t know if they always seemed so soul-searching or if it was a recent attribute that came along with his paranoid distrust.
“If you aren’t comfortable with me being in there, I can sleep on the couch or on the floor. I’ve been a priest long enough to get used to some less than desirable sleeping arrangements. I was a cad long before that, which meant I ended up sleeping in a lot of unusual and uncomfortable places.”
“I’m not comfortable with any of this,” Ashe said. “It’s not just you sleeping in there. Imagine getting told that the Devil is after you.”
Cybil walked back in with a mug. She handed it to Smalls. He took a long sip out of it after blowing the steam away.
“So he told you my theory,” Smalls said. “I wish he had let me do it.”
“Needless to say, I find this all very dubious.”
“Obviously.” Smalls drank more of the tea. “Thank you, Cybil. It’s very good. Just what I needed.”
“Archbishop Harrington told me those books were heretical,” Ashe said.
Smalls nodded. “He’s right. That’s the reason I tried to keep them hidden. They contain valuable information for people like me.”
“What do you mean?” Cybil asked.
“I investigate things like possession and other psychoreligious phenomena. Sometimes books that aren’t sanctioned by the Church or are even right out forbidden have the best information.” He looked at Ashe again. “One of those was the text I asked you to get for me.”
“We couldn’t find it,” Ashe said.
“He must have gotten to it.” Smalls shook his head. “I was afraid of that.”
“Who got it? Archbishop Harrington?” Ashe asked. “He said he did.”
“Too bad,” the priest answered. “It was the puzzle piece that I needed. Harrington has forbidden me to look at any of my confiscated books.”
“What was so important about it?” Cybil asked. “Maybe you can look it up on Google.”
“I doubt it would make a website. It was an obscure theory from very early on in the church put forth by a church philosopher when the age of miracles was ending.”
Ashe felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out. Erik had sent him a text message. He needed help with the engram recorder. Ashe put the phone back into his pocket.
“I need to go to school,” he said.
“Why?” Cybil asked.
“Erik’s broken one of his engram recorders again. I’ve got to fix it.”
“Let it wait,” Smalls said. “It’s not safe for you to leave the house.”
“I have to. I’m the only one who can fix the thing. I have as much riding on these engram experiments as Rogers. If these machines keeps accurately recording emotion engrams, I could be a multimillionaire.”
“I still think it is not a good idea,” Smalls said.
“What would make it safer? Do I need a crucifix or holy water? What about a wooden stake?” Ashe said. “I can’t completely quit working. I’ll go crazy.”
“I’ll go with you,” Cybil said.
&
nbsp; “No.” Ashe didn’t want to leave her with Smalls, but Erik had made advances toward her and she didn’t need to be put into that position again. “Stay here. It won’t take me long to fix the thing. He broke one the other day. It was a simple issue.”
Ashe grabbed his coat off the hook near the door and left the house. The outside air was cool and refreshing. He hadn’t realized how warm the house was until just then. As he walked to his car, he told himself that Cybil would be fine with Smalls. The priest wouldn’t do anything. Despite all the inconsistencies with the man, Ashe still trusted him more than not, at that point, but he thought any little thing could tip the scales.
The building seemed abandoned when Ashe walked in. No one walked up and down the steps. Students didn’t mill around the front, smoking cigarettes. Not a single bicycle was chained to the metal post under the live oak tree. His footsteps echoed down the hall as he walked to his office. The whole place felt like no one had been there all day. He went into his office. Everything inside was just like he’d left it the last time he’d come to campus. This shouldn’t have surprised him but it did. Deep inside of him, he felt like he’d been off campus for months.
Ashe went to a filing cabinet at the back of the room. He fumbled with his keys, looking for the tiny one that unlocked this particular cabinet. There were so many of the small keys on his ring; he needed to organize them better. After a few tries, the correct one slipped into the lock and allowed the top drawer to slide open. Ashe reached in and brought out a small plastic toolbox. All the small tools he needed to work on the engram recorder were inside. Some of them he made special for that project. Keeping these safe was one of the most important things to him, almost as important as keeping himself alive. He thought that he should carry them home to ensure their safety.
“About time you got here.” Rogers walked into the office.
“I got here as quickly as I could. Doesn’t look like anything’s that pressing anyway. Where is everyone?”
“I don’t guess you get memos that often since your forced vacation. The school has cancelled class for a few days to help the student body deal with the recent student deaths.”