by Alexie Aaron
Brenda walked quickly over and rapped smartly on the door.
“Enter!” the commander called out.
Brenda opened the door. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she started.
“Yes?”
“It’s just, I received these two photos in my inbox and…”
“So did I,” Jones said. “I came in here to see if someone else is working our case.”
“What case?” their commander asked.
“Voorhees/Prue murder-suicide.”
“I thought you closed it,” the commander clarified.
“I did.”
“Sirs,” Brenda interjected. “I know where the book is.”
“Go on,” Jones said.
“It’s wrapped in brown paper and sitting on Elma Kis’s hall table. Or it was a few hours ago.”
“Explain.”
“These photos are from a series taken by the forensic photographer of Kabir Patel’s last home search. These two pictures… Brown paper bag cut in a rectangle to wrap around a book, maybe? Elma Kis’s name, and adding this one in,” she handed the photo of the Sharpie laying next to the package tape to Jones, “they all lead me to believe that Kabir Patel sent the book to Elma.”
“She’s the nut who followed Wendell to Dave and Buster’s,” Jones confirmed.
“Yes! I checked on her this morning. I was worried that she had really tied one on and may be in physical distress. I found the door unlocked and entered after calling out Chicago PD. She was under the weather but conscious. I noticed there was a suitcase on the floor of the hall. I moved it to the side for safety’s sake and found a package under the hall runner. I picked it up and put it atop a sizeable amount of mail on her hall table. This all tells me she was away from home for at least a few days. The package was the size of a book.”
“Take Molina with you. See if Elma will let you in voluntarily,” Jones said. “Don’t touch it barehanded. Bag it, and bring it in to forensics.” He looked at the commander and explained, “The book is the common link to Voorhees and Patel. It’s also been in the hands of the other book club members when misfortune befell them.”
“I’ll give you another day. Get this sorted.”
“Yes, Commander,” Jones said.
~
The phone rang. “One more Time,” Nash answered.
“This is Joon-ki. Officer Blunt printed another picture from the set, one of the desktop with tape and a marker on it. Jones added this information to his case notes. Also, Officers Blunt and Molina are headed for Elma Kis’s house.”
Nash sighed. “We have to stand clear.”
“I will be listening,” Joon-ki informed him. “Do not let this Elma Kis in your door. I will be emailing you a photo of her driver’s license.”
“No. Clara has seen her. I think it’s best if I don’t have any traceable communications about Elma Kis at this time. Thank you.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Joon-ki said and hung up.
Nash left his office and climbed the stairs. He glanced at the hardcover books and didn’t see anything amiss. He climbed to the third floor, and halfway up, he started to smell apples cooking.
Clara turned around as he entered the apartment. “I just pulled the pie out of the oven,” she said.
“The cops are headed to Elma Kis’s house. I’ve never met her. So, I’m going to have you watching the door tonight when we reopen.”
“It would be a pleasure.”
“Speaking of pleasures…” Nash said, approaching Clara.
“Nash, you can’t have any pie until it cools down a bit.”
“I wasn’t talking about the pie.”
Clara giggled.
The sound of bells stopped Nash’s advance. Clara picked up the baseball bat and ran down the stairs.
Kalaraja stood just inside the door with Wendell. On his arm, there was a beautiful older woman, whom Clara guessed was Catherine Baumbach.
“We come in peace,” Wendell said, eyeing the bat.
Clara blushed and put it down. “Hey, Wendell.”
“Hey, Clara.”
“Ahem,” Nash said, putting a proprietary hand on Clara’s shoulder.
“I thought it was time we filled in the Baumbachs about what we think is going on,” Kalaraja said.
“I agree,” Nash said. “Come into the workroom. This way we won’t be gawked at.”
Catherine approached Clara and held out her hand. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
“Well, my son is very loyal.”
“From everyone who knows you,” Clara clarified. “Would you like some coffee? Nash does have some tea, but I suspect it’s years old.”
“Coffee will be fine. I drink it black.”
“You know, that’s a sign of a psychopath,” Kalaraja said.
“Another reason you should mind your manners,” Catherine said.
Wendell grinned.
Nash quickly cleared off the sofa and took dustcovers off two wingback chairs and offered them to his guests. He leaned against the worktable. Clara and Kalaraja sat on the couch after Clara had served them all coffee.
“If you’re still here in an hour, I have homemade apple pie. It’s cooling upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” Wendell asked.
“Third floor, there’s an apartment there,” Clara explained.
“I learn something every day,” Wendell said. “Mother wanted to tell me why all of you have been acting oddly, but she wanted to explain it to me with Kalaraja and Nash to back her up.”
“How much do you know about your father?” Kalaraja began.
“He left us. That’s all I need to know. We’ve been fine without him.”
“Wendell, he didn’t leave by choice. I had him taken away,” Catherine said.
Clara felt for Wendell. He looked like the wind had been knocked out of him.
“I don’t understand. Why?” Wendell asked.
“May I?” Kalaraja asked.
Catherine nodded.
“Wendell, your parents were a pair of the greatest book scouts the world has ever known. They discovered lost manuscripts, unpublished gems, and other valuable books too numerous to mention. They worked hand in hand with a group of preservationists called the Order of Scrolls. This is an ancient order that saves texts, scrolls, and books, in and out of print, for humanity.”
“I thought the Order of Scrolls was just a rumor,” Wendell admitted.
“Until recently, I had no idea they existed,” Clara commiserated.
The Order and your parents worked hard to find and save books, but not all books should be saved,” Kalaraja said. “Some books in the wrong hands are very dangerous.”
“While I was convalescing after giving birth to you, your father found an alchemist’s handbook. Instead of handing it into the Order, he decided to keep it. I never suspected that he was teaching himself how to create life-influencing books. These are books that are used to control people. In his case, he made a book that when held by someone, would influence them to give your father all their money. He hid his ill-gotten gains and activities from me. One day, I walked into his workroom and saw a book lying open on the bench that was receiving text. The words appeared as if the book was being printed before my very eyes. The copperplate was difficult at first to read, but what I could read shocked me. Your father had developed a book that would print itself and expand physically as it needed pages. I saw it grow pages as if they were limbs!”
“That’s shocking,” Wendell said. “What did you do?”
“I took you to Kalaraja for your protection before I confronted Horace. He didn’t deny his activities. He spoke with pride about how he had ruined governments with his books. He talked about how weak the human mind was. He showed me plans for his ultimate parasitical book. This book would travel the world amassing knowledge from the greatest minds, and when it retu
rned to Horace, he would have the knowledge, money, and power to rule the world. All he needed was a sacrifice. It had to be a human sacrifice. I knew before he said the words that he intended to kill you.”
“The ultimate sacrifice, the first born,” Kalaraja said.
Clara gasped.
“I waited until he was asleep and stole out into the night and approached the King of Scrolls with my story. He called forth his knights and the clergy. Horace was sleeping, no doubt dreaming of his conquests, when they arrived in force. They took him away screaming, vowing vengeance. He said he would kill all I held dear for turning him in. He also reminded me that you, Wendell, are his to kill.”
“Where is he now?” Wendell asked.
“In a monastery in the Allegheny Mountains. He is guarded by priests who are ordained to deal with this kind of evil. Unfortunately, he still managed to create a book. I first learned of it when it attacked my former school. A boy named Ron Santiago, who was being groomed to be the next King of Scrolls, huffed poison. The teachers thought that a slam book had caused all this wickedness. But I found a newspaper photo of a memorial, and in the memorial is a black leather book. Horace loved black leather covers on books.”
Wendell flashed upon the book Marianne had tucked into her purse. “Tell me how this book works,” Wendell said.
“Once the victim touches the book, it can control the person. It convinces the victim to act out their darkest desires, and when they have exhausted themselves, it takes their memories and writes the account in the book. The book grows like the one I saw on the worktable. When a death happens, the book grows stronger.”
“So Ron Santiago’s death nourished the book,” Wendell surmised.
“It would have, but Ron was only brain dead,” Nash continued. “His heart was still pumping.” Nash undid his vest, shirt, and pulled them off. Finally, he pulled his T-shirt over his head. “I needed a heart. This is Ron’s heart.”
Wendell knew about Nash’s situation, but seeing the massive scarring on the man’s chest changed Wendell. No longer was he jealous of the man with the quick mind. Nash had showed Wendell his vulnerability.
“So the book is coming for you,” Wendell realized.
“And you,” Catherine reminded him. “Your father still needs a sacrifice.”
“Wendell, the book is moving through your book club, taking out your friends,” Kalaraja explained. He then told Wendell all he, Catherine, and the Order had found out. “We have traced it to Elma Kis. We think Kabir, when he was under the influence of the book, mailed it to her. She was out of town and hasn’t opened it yet.”
“I cringe thinking what Elma’s darkest desires are,” Catherine said.
“Elma followed us last night,” Clara said. “She was intercepted by three police officers who were following you and me.”
Wendell’s eyes darted from his mother to her and back again.
“They followed us to the restaurant and back to the community center where you were a gentleman and drove me home,” Clara explained. Her eyes told him she wouldn’t expose his secret to his mother.
“Why did they follow us?” Wendell asked.
“My connection to Nash. You see, you and he know the victims. The police thought you and Nash were people of interest because of this book. They have no idea of the paranormal aspect of this thing. They just think it’s a valuable collectible that, perhaps, Nash or you was willing to torture the others in order to find. Fortunately, that has been cleared up. All your and Nash’s time has been accounted for,” Clara said, rubbing her wrist.
Wendell’s quick mind picked up on the wristband and his activities for the past few weeks.
“Wendell, forgive me for being weak and not telling you the truth about your father,” Catherine said. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“You thought I was weak of character,” Wendell realized.
“Only because I didn’t get the chance to see how you’ve blossomed,” Catherine argued. “You were always very quiet in my shadow.”
“Catherine, you must have never seen your son in action in the book club,” Clara said and turned to Wendell. “She didn’t see what a wonderful teacher you are, how you listen and nurture everyone in your group. You took my breath away. I left with a better understanding of a book I always thought I knew everything about. When a novice gave a questionable answer to the group, you took the time to listen to her and didn’t let on that it wasn’t well thought out. Instead, you asked a few questions and drew out the best of the reader. I told Nash that you have done more for reading than the Order of Scrolls has.”
“She said you were worth a hundred of me,” Nash admitted.
“Ouch,” Kalaraja said.
“No, it was just,” Nash qualified.
Catherine looked over at her son. “I could not be prouder.”
“You’re very lucky,” Nash said. “Most of us will never be able to make our parents proud.”
“He’s right,” Clara said.
“What is the Order doing about the book?” Wendell asked.
“We are tracking it. It’s just a book. It can be destroyed, but it can’t be touched with uncovered hands,” Nash said. “Because my bookshop is rather unusual, Clara has been with me to have my back. Imagine being surrounded by books, with a book out there hunting me.”
“When I can’t be here, Kalaraja is here with Nash. After hearing Catherine’s story, I think you should be protected too, both of you,” Clara said.
“Now we know what’s going on, we’ll be okay at home,” Catherine said. “Clara, if you would continue with book club until that is sorted, I would consider it a favor.”
“I’ll arrange my days off when I go back into work.”
Nash had to decide right then and there. He was either going to trust Clara not to fall in love with Wendell or he was going to attend book club with her. “Bring me home a steak salad,” Nash said.
Clara looked at him and smiled. “I need to go and get the pie. Why don’t you all relax, and I’ll be right back.”
“Wendell, go and help.”
“Mother.”
“Wendell, let us adults talk.”
Clara felt for Wendell. “Come on, Wendell, I’ll race you up the stairs.”
Wendell followed Clara up the stairs. Neither of them ran. Both had too much on their minds.
When they arrived at the apartment, Wendell put a hand on Clara’s arm. “Please tell me you weren’t playing me to get information.”
“They sent me to watch you, but I went to the book club with the intention of getting to know you better. I had no idea the effect you were going to have on me. You were sensitive and let me down easy. I thank you for that,” Clara said. “It’s too bad. We have so much in common. I know how it is to live in the shadow of someone. In my case, it was my brother. He was the moon and stars to my parents. They died before I found out who I was. Craig was the big tree. But I’m here now. I’m a damn good chef. I have a wonderful boss who treats me like a daughter. I think I have a future with Nash, but who knows? He’s insecure and may not want children because he doesn’t want to pass on his heart condition. And adoption may be out because he doesn’t want to leave his children fatherless.”
“Who suggested for you to befriend me?”
“Nash did. I didn’t understand why he wanted me to go. It was very chancy, considering the newness of his and my relationship. He already sensed I liked you.”
“Nash must care for you deeply. I think he sees me as the better alternative,” Wendell said. “He doesn’t like me, but he knows that I would have provided for you and given you children had we connected. But I don’t love you, Clara, and you don’t love me. I’m happy with my life as it is. I know people laugh behind my back. Mother’s boy is a label I consider a badge of honor. She gave up her life for me. I’m going to look after her until she’s gone.”
“When she’s gone, you’ll have me,” Clara promi
sed. “I’m not letting you welch on being my friend.”
“You know, Clara, aside from your deplorable taste in men, you’re a fabulous person.”
“Wait until you taste my pie.”
“You think that will tip the scales your way. My mother makes an awesome apple pie.”
“I consider that a challenge.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Father Saul and Marianne arrived at the mountain facility. They were greeted by the abbot.
“Why are you here?” the abbot asked.
“I feel that Marianne needs more help than I can give her. I’m hoping that this trip, combined with all the information we have, will help Marianne get closure. I know that once she is armed with the truth, she will be able to move out of the mental hospital and back into her old life.”
“I will assign you an escort. Please do not go anywhere without him or someone he in turn assigns to protect you. This place is filled with monsters who bear no good will to authority, not even men of the cloth.”
Marianne rubbed her arms to stave off the chill the abbot’s words had caused. She followed Father Saul and the man garbed in plain clothing through the building. They passed through many locked doors and guarded passages. There were metal doors with locked slides on the top and bottom. In one area, the rough-clad men were joined by women whose strength Marianne would not relish testing.
The guide answered the question that was building in her mind. “Women can be monsters too. Here we treat them as humanely as possible, taking extra care to be extra watchful. Most women are expert multitaskers. One moment they are compliant, and the next they are all teeth and nails. We have one inmate who lies so expertly that no machine can record the truth. She is so deeply entrenched in her lies that I doubt that even she knows who she is anymore.”
“Are the inmates of the facility treated for what made them do the things they have done?” Marianne asked.