They had clearly made him an example. The man was on display. He was naked, and the scripture had been emblazoned on his chest. His mouth was open, and she could see some burn marks on his lips even from far away. There were two things different about this time, though—she knew, even without forensics, what the significance was.
Franklin Monteiro had each limb pointed at the four corners of the bed, as though he was arranged in an “X”. He also had a straight line burned into his skin, dead center, going from the top of his head all the way down to his groin. There was another burn line, going exactly horizontal, through his navel. Lastly, there was a circle drawn all around the body using a grey powder of some kind. It was on the bed, and on the floor, and it was on his body—it went over the burn lines and continued to the edges of the circle. The effect was obvious. All of this recreated the symbol of the MCP. It was a circle with an “X” and a “+” going through it—or, looked at another way, eight lines that all radiated out from the middle.
Despite the lines burned on his body, and the grey powder, she could easily read the scripture written on him—it was burned in the same letters but was clearly legible. It read:
And turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into ashes condemned them with an overthrow, making them an example unto those that after should live ungodly The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgment to be punished
She filmed every inch of it and then the first squad car arrived. She went back to the door and stood outside. The manager was still there, and a curious bystander had joined him. Emily waved at the arriving deputy and yelled for him to bring the crime scene tape. Just then the Sheriff arrived.
He pulled right up to the room and parked a few feet away from her. As he stepped out of his car, she said, “The room’s clear, sir. He’s in there… it’s my witness... the addict. His name was Franklin Monteiro. He left the Church, where he was hiding, a few hours ago. He came down here looking for dope—he’s got a fresh needle mark. He’s got the scripture burned on him, like the others. But this one’s a little different—they’ve recreated the MCP symbol.”
“How so?” the Sheriff asked, and then he stepped into the room to see for himself. After a few minutes he came back out to the edge of the doorway and asked Emily, “Anything else?”
“No sir,” she whispered back, “But I’ve been talking to Agent Gibbons, that’s where I’ve been all day. After the attempt on Dr. O’Neill’s life, I decided it was better we stay off the radar.”
“Where is O’Neill now?”
“I left him with Gibbons.”
“Good. Maybe the bureau will finally step up.”
“Won’t this be enough to get a warrant on the MCP?”
“Let’s hope so. Hold on,” he said as more police vehicles arrived. He took out his cell phone and made a call. He spoke in low tones for several minutes. Then he put the phone back in his pocket. “This has gotten out of hand,” he said. “It’s time to have a meeting. There are very few people I trust completely in the department. But it’s time we all got together.”
I was sitting in the FBI safe house, surfing my phone out of boredom. Agent Gibbon’s had disappeared into the back room for the better part of an hour. I only got a glimpse in there, but it seemed to be filled with computer equipment. I assumed he was talking to his superiors in Washington using secure methods of communication like impenetrable firewalls and retinal scans. Or maybe they sent a text to his cell phone to confirm it was really him, I didn’t know. In any case, he finally came out of the room after forty-five minutes. I had found some vanilla ice cream and chocolate chip cookies, so Gibbons excitedly made a cookie sandwich.
“I spoke with the Sheriff,” he said, “And the news isn’t good. It was Emily’s witness, a man named Franklin Monteiro, who was murdered. He was D.O.A. It was the same M.O.—he had scripture burned into his skin.”
“What did it say?” I asked.
“I didn’t get that,” he said. “But he’s submitted a formal request for the FBI to take over the investigation, and I’ve contacted my superiors in Denver and D.C.— I should be able to get some agents up here from Denver in the morning. By tomorrow night, we’ll have a warrant. Three people are dead, and everything points to the MCP. They’re finally going to have to let us in there.”
I was hoping we would get back in the SUV to go check out the crime scene, but instead we just waited. Agent Gibbons said that the body had been arranged with lines burned into it and a grey powder placed all around it to replicate the MCP’s symbol. It was the same chrysalis design that was tattooed on all MCP members—eight snakes all of which intersected in the center of the circle.
I was getting bored, so I started using my phone to do some research. It didn’t take me long to find out that that the chrysalis symbolized rebirth, and regeneration, and the beginning of eternal life. There was a website that dissected the meaning of the symbol as it pertained to the MCP, and several more sites that talked about the significance of the number eight. The fact that there were eight snakes was significant—if the symbol was looked at this way, it gained meaning. The Bible had seventy-two references to the number eight. There were eight people on Noah’s ark; hence Noah was ‘the eighth person.’ This had been burned onto the skin of Ezekiel Abraham.
Biblical numerology was surprisingly unambiguous about the number eight; it signified rebirth. The eighth day of the week marked the new beginning. Jesus had been crucified on the sixth day, was entombed on the seventh day, and rose on the eighth day. The number eight, seen this way, was extremely important.
I wondered why the MCP would leave their own symbol at a murder scene. It seemed like a set-up. Why would they point the finger at themselves? It made little sense unless viewed from the perspective of a religious zealot. I tried to put myself in that frame of mind. I remembered that Emily had said that Franklin Monteiro thought that the MCP was expecting an apocalypse, or Armageddon. He had thought this based on the scripture—the actual verses that had been written on the first two victims.
I decided to make a leap and assume that the new verses—the ones burned on Franklin himself—were the continuation that he had been expecting. I remembered that the verses on victim two had been from Peter, and I looked up online what the next verses should be. I couldn’t be sure, but I found what I was looking for on a Bible site where the King James Version was posted.
And turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into ashes condemned them with an overthrow, making them an ensample unto those that after should live ungodly; And delivered just Lot, vexed with the filthy conversation of the wicked; For that righteous man dwelling among them, in seeing and hearing, vexed his righteous soul from day to day with their unlawful deeds; The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgment to be punished
This was what, I was going to assume, was written on Franklin’s body. As I would later learn, the scripture emblazoned on Franklin Monteiro was incomplete. Whoever had done that to him had actually left out the verse in the middle, skipping from ‘should live ungodly’ to ‘The Lord knoweth’. But for my purposes at the time, it didn’t make much difference—the main thing was that this was referring to Sodom and Gomorrah—a famous biblical tale that even I knew. You didn’t have to be a biblical scholar to know that this was the part where God turned cities into ashes. The clear implication was that anyone who ‘lived ungodly’ would burn. And then there was the ending… ‘The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgment to be punished.’ This also left little to the imagination. The ungodly would be punished when judgement day came… which was… when, exactly? I pondered if this should be taken literally or if maybe I was reading too much into it. After all, just because they had burned scripture into a murder victim, it didn’t mean they were going to blow anything up. Did it?
I wasn’t sure
what to think—I decided that I would bring it up with Agent Gibbons, but he had been busy in his little room for a ridiculously long time, and he had been pretty clear that I wasn’t allowed inside. Finally, after I had exhausted just about every avenue of internet research available, I gave up. I was exhausted. To say it had been a long day would have been a massive understatement. I found some blankets in a closet and crashed out on the couch in the main room in front of the wood stove.
When I woke up, Gibbons was shaking me gently.
“Let’s go,” he said, “We’re going to meet with the Sheriff.”
We were all sitting around a conference table in the Sheriff’s Department. By the time the meeting came together it was just after seven a.m. It was awkward—no one seemed to know why we were all there with the possible exceptions of the Sheriff and Agent Gibbons. Besides them, there was me, Emily, the dispatcher Moira Fitzgerald, the ex-bull rider Deputy Cody McDonough, and Reverend Santos. That made for seven of us in all, and we took seats around the table and sat there blinking at one another.
“Thank you all for coming,” the Sheriff started. “Before we go any further, I want to clear a few things up.” Everyone looked at him. “You’ve all been brought here because we need any information you might have about the MCP. We’ve brought together everyone from Hawk Claw County who we can say for certain has no connection to them. That’s seven people. There are only seven people that I truly trust right now, and you’re all here.”
“What can you tell us about the investigation?” asked Reverend Santos.
“Very little,” Agent Gibbons replied in place of the Sheriff. “This is not a sharing session, Father, I’m sorry. We are limiting access to the investigation and that’s why you weren’t allowed to see the room where the Sheriff tracks developments. Speaking from the point of view of the FBI, I don’t really know what we’re doing here—but the Sheriff has made it clear that he trusts you people, and I’m humoring him. I expect that tomorrow at this time it will all be moot as I expect it to become a federal investigation.”
“He’s right,” the Sheriff said, “This meeting is highly unusual, but there’s a good reason for it. A couple of reasons. The first reason is that the MCP is into everything in this county, and this room represents the only seven people whom I know to be clean. I think it’s worth a quick meeting in case anyone here has any ideas or knows anything we haven’t thought of—it may be the only time we get to talk before the FBI takes over and then everyone comes under suspicion.”
“What’s the second reason?” asked Gibbons.
“The second reason,” the Sheriff said, “Is for me to come clean. I wanted a room full of people I can trust, because I want to go on record about something.” The room was completely silent now. “Three years ago, when I took this job, I did something I’ve regretted very much, and I’ve wished I could change it ever since then. I received twenty thousand dollars from the MCP back when I took the job. It wasn’t for anything in particular—I didn’t look the other way on any case, I didn’t actually give them special treatment—the truth is, I haven’t had many direct dealings with them. But I was approached by Reverend Thompson and like a fool I let him write me a check. It was after my election was over, so I couldn’t even pretend it was for that. It went straight into my personal bank account and as such, it was illegal.”
“And now you’ve come clean, officially,” Agent Gibbons said, “Which will be a matter for the Mayor, and the voters. Except… the Mayor is definitely owned by the MCP. So, things are getting messy.”
“The Mayor is MCP?” asked Cody.
“Correction,” I said, “Things are getting messier.”
“Look, we’re getting off track,” the Sheriff said, “And I’m sorry if I brought you all together for my personal confession, but I actually think we can use this time to do a little brainstorming. Starting with this… does anyone have any idea as to why the MCP would suddenly be advertising brutal murders as if they are actively seeking publicity? It goes against everything I’ve ever known them to do in the past.”
“The reason is hubris,” Reverend Santos said. “They think they cannot be stopped. The scripture they’ve emblazoned on these pour souls… it indicates that they believe they walk the path of the righteous. They think that rebirth is coming. They believe in the apocalypse, and they believe it to be nigh.”
“Reverend, can you explain that, please?” asked Gibbons.
“It’s simple,” the minister said, “They have espoused these beliefs for years. This is nothing new for them. I’ve become an unwilling scholar of the Messianic Cathedral of Penance. That’s what happens when you have a parish in Hawk Claw County. You become an expert on the MCP, whether you like it or not. Thus, I can say that what has changed is that they have suddenly gained confidence. Nothing else has changed, really. They have always had these extremist views. They have always believed they are the saviors of the world, and that only the MCP will deliver humanity through the trials of judgement day. They’ve said as much for years. What is different is that these murders are now actively promoting their views and doing so in very un-Christian way. Which can only mean one thing, in my opinion.” He paused long enough to notice that everyone was fixated on his every word.
“Go on, Reverend,” the Sheriff said.
“The MCP believes that Judgement day is coming. They believe they are no longer beholden to the laws of the land—they only answer to God now, or their version of Him—and thus they are no longer bothering to hide their misdeeds. They never wanted to be bogged down with publicity or court cases before, and they were suspected of horrible things—bribery, extortion, even murder. But no one would testify, and the ones who spoke out against them always disappeared. But it was always kept very quiet. Sheriff Edwards was never called upon in these cases because there was almost never an official case. Most of the MCP’s followers are runaways and lost souls, like Franklin Monteiro. Most of them don’t have anyone looking for them in the first place. I know of a couple instances where the MCP was rumored to have bought the family off—in general they have been very skilled at covering up their crimes. Things are different now, and I think the reason is clear.” For some reason Reverend Santos paused again. He seemed to have a habit of pausing and needing prompting to go on.
“What reason is that, Reverend?” Emily asked.
“Well… Forgive me for being mysterious but I thought it was obvious.”
“Thought what was obvious, Reverend?” asked Gibbons.
“The Messianic Cathedral of Penance’s vision. They may not print it on those silly pamphlet’s they hand out, but it’s quite clear.”
“Maybe you should refresh our memory, anyway,” Agent Gibbons said.
“Of course. Well, as I’m sure many of you know, the MCP has a symbol, the chrysalis. It is a snake, arranged in a circle, with eight snakes bisecting it. Which corresponds to the supposed ‘visions’ of their supposed ‘Messiah’, Lucas Burke, the founder of the MCP. He has been obsessed with the number eight from the start. These biblical verses—they are further evidence of his views. They are saying exactly the same thing he has been saying all along. That the ‘ungodly’ will be punished. That judgement day is coming—”
“That Sodom and Gomorrah is right around the corner,” I interjected.
“Yes, exactly,” Reverend Santos said, “This is not symbolic to them. I believe that they are actually trying to bring about judgement day.”
“Reverend, what are you talking about?” Gibbons asked.
“I’ve been researching the MCP for many years,” said Reverend Santos, “And I’ve never known them to practice half-measures. What they are trying to tell us is simple. The number eight is symbolic to them. It signifies rebirth, and renewal. And they are going to bring that about by triggering judgement day. In their warped world view, the MCP will arise from the ashes, and come to dominate the world.”
“How will they trigger judgement day?” asked Gibbons.
“Why today?” Sheriff Edwards said above the din of questions that arose.
“Because,” the Reverend said, silencing everyone else, “Today is August eighth—the eighth day of the eighth month. That’s not coincidence. The number eight is Holy to them. Today will be the day of judgement.”
Chapter 13
The man known as the Archangel had forgotten the name he was called before he became the Archangel. Most people wouldn’t have believed such a thing were possible, but he didn’t talk to anyone outside the MCP. He knew his first name had been Michael and he suspected that his last name had started with an E. But that was all he could remember. It didn’t matter. The Messiah had given him his new name; he would forever be known as the Archangel. The Messiah had explained how he didn’t need his old name anymore because that life was behind him. He had instructed the Archangel not to think about it. The Messiah had made everything better. He had given the Archangel the pink pills he needed to wake up and the white pills he needed to sleep. The Messiah had given him everything. The Archangel owed everything to him.
The Archangel knew there had been some kind of accident long ago that had changed him, but he didn’t know exactly what had happened. He knew there had been a car involved. He vaguely remembered the hospital and lots of doctors and nurses and months in therapy. He also knew that he used to drink alcohol but now he never did. It wasn’t allowed in the MCP. The Messiah had shown him that there were better things—he didn’t have to live on the streets anymore. He never wanted to go back to Denver again. The life he once knew—for he could remember bits and pieces of it from time to time—only gave him feelings of dread and darkness. He had been rescued from all that. The Messiah had swept him up and away from all that.
The Armageddon Prophecy Page 13