Innocent Blood; Blood Money; Blood Moon

by Michael Lister

  “Chaplain, can I use your phone for a minute?”

  He wanted to make a personal call. Anything institutional and he could’ve used his radio.

  I walked over and opened the door only wide enough for my head, which I poked out and in a whisper said, “Someone’s using it right now.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He started to head back toward the chapel, but stopped, turned, and said, “Who’s here? Thought it was just us.”

  Us must have meant me, him, the volunteer leading the service, and the hundred or so inmates.

  “Another volunteer. Emmitt Emerson.”

  “I didn’t know I had to supervise another service tonight.”

  “You don’t. It got canceled. He’s very sick. I’m about to help him get home.”

  He nodded. “I’ll walk up to control and get a key for your office so I can use the phone when you leave.”

  If he also used the private restroom, which was likely, he’d see the real Emmitt doing his Elvis impersonation on the toilet.

  “That’s too long to be away from your post,” I said. “Come with me. You can use the phone in the staff chaplain’s office. Just be quick.”

  I led him down the hallway and unlocked the staff chaplain’s office for him.

  “Hurry. I’ll watch the inmates until you get back.”

  “They’re fine. It’s okay.”

  “Words spoken right before every riot, assault, murder, or escape,” I said. “I’m locking the offices before I leave and I’m leaving in five minutes. Make it quick and get back to your post.”

  “I don’t take orders from preachers.”

  “Not a problem,” I said. “I’ll get the captain to tell you.”

  “Fuck man. Just forget it. Jesus.”

  He slowly walked past me, mad muggin’ all the way.

  “Just wanted to use the fuckin’ phone for five minutes. Shit.”

  I closed the door behind him and went back over to my office. Before I went in, I said, “I’ll be back in a little while, but I’m gonna have the OIC drop in and check on things while I’m gone.”

  28

  You ready?” I asked

  “Not really,” Cardigan said.

  Me either, but . . .

  I had just walked back into my office and for a fraction of a second thought I was looking at Emmitt Emerson.

  “What happens if I’m recognized or they don’t buy that I’m what’s-his-name Emerson?” Cardigan said.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said. “I’ll take care of everything. Just go with what I do. You’re so sick you can hardly stand up. You certainly can’t talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “As we go, lean on me. Let me help you walk. Keep your head down like you’re about to throw up.”

  “I probably will be.”

  We walked out of the cool chapel into the warm, darkening night and headed toward the front gate.

  Pulse elevated, mind racing.

  The pale moon above us was big and bright and only partially shadowed so far, its shrinking circumference shimmering in a kind of translucent duskiness.

  I half held Cardigan up as we hobbled toward the first of the two gates we had to get through, him with one arm around me and his head hanging down.

  “Don’t overdo it,” I said. “You’re sick, not incapacitated.”

  If he was too convincing, the control room would send help and maybe even call an ambulance.

  He straightened a bit and we moved a little faster toward our fate.

  The moon looked like a charcoal drawing sketched in the shimmering sky, streaks and smudges of darkness around the edges, shadings and highlights, powder and pencil dusting the surface.

  When we reached the first gate of the pedestrian sally port, I placed my fingers through the chain-link and pulled, rattling the gate a bit––usually all that was required to alert the control room to my presence and be buzzed through.

  But nothing happened.

  I waited, my heart pounding now, and tried to breathe deeply and calmly.

  “What’s wrong?” Cardigan whispered, fear at the ragged edges of his voice.

  Tower One loomed above us in the blackening night sky, the armed officer on duty authorized to fire if he suspected what we were doing.

  I lowered my head a bit and looked back down the compound.

  All was quiet and dark, no officers or response team running toward us.

  I rattled the gate again.

  And waited.

  “Let’s go back to the chapel,” Cardigan said. “Come on. Before it’s too late.”

  And waited some more.

  “Just a little longer,” I said. “Maybe they haven’t––”

  “Chaplain,” someone yelled from behind me.

  “Oh fuck,” Cardigan said. “Fuck.”

  I turned to see an officer I recognized but couldn’t name jogging toward us.

  Until this moment I had thought about what I might do if I couldn’t get Cardigan out of the institution, but not about what would happen if I got caught trying to get him out and was unable to go to meet the kidnappers at all.

  If we’re caught, Anna is dead.

  Think. What do I do?

  “Chaplain,” the officer said again. “What is it? Everything okay?”

  “Sick volunteer,” I said. “Helping him home. Can’t get anyone in the control room to open the gate for us.”

  “I’ll radio Sergeant Davis,” he said. “Must be dealing with an incident or on the phone.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Chaplain’s at the interior gate, Serg,” he said into his radio. “Got a sick volunteer we need to get out of here.”

  The lock on the gate popped and we walked in, the officer closing it behind us.

  “Thanks again,” I said to him. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “No problem,” he said, and headed back over toward the visiting park.

  We moved over to the control room window, Cardigan leaning on me, head down.

  I unclipped my ID badge and held it up to the window, placing it in the small adhesive frame put there for that reason.

  Randy Wayne didn’t even look at it, just waved me through.

  “Almost there,” I said to Cardigan. “Hang on. Hold it together.”

  The electronic lock popped on the outside gate and it eased open a few inches. I stepped toward it, shoved it open, helped Cardigan through it, and slammed it shut behind us.

  We had taken a few steps away, walking toward the admin building and the parking lot beyond, when Randy Wayne opened the document tray and yelled for me.

  I slowed and turned back, but kept moving away.

  He leaned down and yelled out the window, “You need help?”

  “Nah. I’m just gonna drive him home. I’ll be back in a few. Thanks.”

  “Everything okay in the chapel? I need to send someone down to help out?”

  “It’s all good. I’ll be back by the end of the service to lock up and––”

  “Hey, Emmitt,” he yelled. “I thought blood-bought, saved, sanctified, filled-with-the-Holy Ghost faith-healer evangelists didn’t get sick. Especially during a blood moon when the world is ending.”

  I smiled and waved to him and continued walking.

  29

  Night.

  Woods.

  Path.

  Damp dirt. Warm air. Stillness.

  Quietude.

  The umbra of earth’s shadow crawled across the moon, darkness spreading like black fog over the pale white surface.

  The quiet night had a hushed quality about it, as if the aura of the lunar event was casting something ethereal on the earth, the ephemeral nature of which caused a certain celestial reverence.

  I had driven around the long way and parked at Potter Farm.

  On the drive, I had taken the small snub-nosed .38 from beneath my seat and slipped it into my pocket.

  As expected, Potter Farm was empty, no light or move
ment in the farmhouse or barn.

  We were now traversing the small path that led down to the pond and to the deeper woods beyond, and beyond those to a field beyond which was the prison complex.

  The trail was narrow and overgrown, bushes and branches sharp and pointy and thorned, hanging, leaning, looming.

  Flashes of a figure in a party dress running, stumbling, tripping, falling down this very path. Not long ago.

  Cuts. Scrapes. Abrasions.

  Another figure. Chasing. Former friend. Now killer.

  Broken heels. Sprained ankle. Adrenaline-juiced heart ricocheting around ribcage.

  Anna and I had walked this path before. Down to the pond on our lunch break. Enjoying each other in a seclusion that felt Edenic.

  Was she somewhere on this path now?

  Would we be together soon?

  Or would this path that had once been for us a secret garden become our own personal Via Dolorosa, the way of suffering and blood?

  “Where are we meeting them?” Ronnie asked.

  “Not sure. Just somewhere along the path. Us walking it gives them a chance to ensure we’re alone.”

  “Hope it’s not too much longer,” he said. “Dude’s shoes don’t fit my feet.”

  Though strictly speaking not my hostage, I had him walking in front of me, far enough so he couldn’t spin around and attack me without me seeing it coming.

  I had to at least consider that he could be feigning ignorance and actually be a part of a plan that included bashing my head in.

  We reached a spot on the path where the moon could be seen without obstruction. We both paused and looked up.

  Darkness had spread across the face of the moon, its slow expansion toward eclipse reaching beyond the halfway mark.

  “How much longer ’til it’s eclipsed?” Ronnie asked.

  “Not sure. Takes a while. It’s something to see.”

  He nodded. “Really is. Cool how it changes everything about the night.”

  He was right. The normally noisy woods were as quiet as I had ever heard them, the usual nocturnal chatter, the hums and saws and buzzes and chirps, nonexistent.

  After another moment, we continued on.

  Was this a setup? Would we be ambushed? Had I played this all wrong? Was Anna already dead?

  I wondered if we were being watched—perhaps through a night vision scope or infrared goggles. Dying was one thing. Failing to save Anna was another.

  I could feel the tension in my neck and shoulders, the pounding of my pulse in my throat and head, and though it was warm, I was sweating far more profusely than if just from the heat.

  “Something’s not right,” Cardigan said. “Feels off. You feel it?”

  “It’s just the moon,” I said. “And nerves.”

  “I don’t know. Seems like more than that. Feels like I’m gonna die tonight.”

  “You’re not. It’s gonna be okay. It’ll all be over soon.”

  “Over?”

  “I just meant . . . you’ll be with your mom. Hold it together just a little longer.”

  As we walked, I scanned the woods, searching the darkness for darker figures, letting my eyes wander both sides of the path for movement.

  Every few steps, I paused, listened, checked behind me.

  There was no one. Anywhere.

  Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there.

  I realize that, but . . .

  We seemed to be alone.

  Eventually, we reached the small pond the path had been sloping toward. Though rimmed by cypress trees and pond pines, an opening across the way made the moon visible.

  Earth’s umbra was nearly three-quarters across the diminishing orb.

  Seen in the reflection on the smooth surface of the pond below, the shimmering, shadowed moon appeared even more mystical as it moved atop the gently undulating waters.

  “Nobody here,” he said. “What’s really going on? Is this all some sort of—

  “Just be patient a few more minutes,” I said. “I still think they’ll show. They’re probably just being cautious. That’s a good thing.”

  “They—whoever they are—are probably about to cap us. No warning. No time to . . . we’ll just be here one moment and gone the next. Never know what hit us.”

  I’m having a hard time not hitting you.

  We stepped off the path and made our way down to the pond, standing at the dark water’s edge like two naïve supplicants awed in the face of an inexplicable phenomenon.

  “See anything?” Ronnie asked.

  I shook my head––something he couldn’t see in my position beside and just behind him. “Nothing yet. I’ll tell you when I—”

  “John? Is that you?”

  The disembodied voice was the same one from the phone, the one that haunted me, the one that echoed through my dreams, the one I’d never forget no matter how long I lived.

  “I’m here,” I said.

  Not only could I not see anyone, I had a difficult time distinguishing where the voice was coming from.

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Who you asked me to bring,” I said. “Ronnie Cardigan.”

  “Who are you?” Ronnie yelled, surprised. “Whatta you want with me?”

  “John, stay where you are. Send Cardigan around the pond to your right to meet me and I’ll send Anna around to the left to you.”

  “Okay.”

  I searched for any movement, any sign of Anna.

  To my left, through the trees and undergrowth, light from the prison backlit an area of mostly pines and I could see Anna beginning to ease her way through them.

  “I ain’t goin’ until you tell me who you are and what you want me for,” Ronnie yelled.

  “Thought the chaplain would’ve told you. To see your mom. Your family hired me to get you out and bring you to her.”

  “Who?”

  “Who what?” the kidnapper asked. “You need to walk this way—to your right. John you need to send him over here now. We’ll grab Anna again if you don’t. Anna stop where you are. Don’t move until Ronnie starts heading over here.”

  Anna continued walking.

  “Who hired you?” Cardigan said.

  “Anna stop where you are or we’ll shoot.”

  “I did what you asked me to,” I said. “Leave her alone. Let her keep coming.”

  “Something’s not right,” Ronnie said to me.

  “I told you,” the kidnapper said. Your family.”

  I watched Anna as she continued toward me, tracking her progress. Things were unraveling. If the balloon went up, I wanted to be able to get to her fast.

  “No. Who in my family?” Cardigan said. “I don’t buy it, don’t believe you.”

  “Your dad. Who else?”

  “My dad’s been dead for three years,” Ronnie yelled.

  “Oh shit.”

  Ronnie looked over at me. “You just got me killed,” he said. “My dad’s not dead, but they don’t know it. What’s really going on here?”

  “Grab him,” the kidnapper yelled.

  A rustling in the underbrush, fast footfalls, running, snapping branches, crunching twigs.

  “Follow me if you want to live,” I said.

  “GET HIM NOW.”

  I took off running toward Anna, the .38 out now, in my right hand. At my side. Pointed toward the ground. Hammer back. Finger on the trigger.

  “Stay with me,” I said. “I’ll protect you.”

  “Fuck that,” he said, and took off in the opposite direction.

  Running.

  Stumbling over tree limbs. Slipping on pine straw. Twisting around tree trunks. Bushes and plants and branches impeding my progress.

  Looking for Anna. Scanning. Searching.

  Shots fired. Small caliber gun. Pop. Pop.

  “ANNA,” I yelled. “GET DOWN. STAY DOWN. I’LL FIND YOU.”

  “WE WON’T HURT HER, JOHN,” the kidnapper yelled. “SHE’S SAFE. YOU BOTH ARE. YOU DID WH
AT WE––”

  Another shot. Pop. Then another. Pop.

  “STOP SHOOTING FOR FUCK’S SAKE.”

  Still running.

  Dress shoes sinking in soggy sand, sliding down the small embankment toward the pond.

  “Anna,” I said.

  “John.”

  She was there. Not far away now. So close.

  Get to her.

  Diving beside her, I grabbed her. Hugged her. Held her.

  She felt so good.

  “You okay?”

  “Am now.”

  “JOHN,” Merrill yelled from the other side of the pond. “ONE RUNNING YOUR WAY.”

  I was shocked to hear Merrill’s voice, but didn’t think about it, just responded to what he said.

  Spinning around in a crouch, I came up behind Anna, shielding her body with mine, gun up, eyes scanning the area behind the barrel.

  In the glow of the institution, I could see a figure sprinting––but away from and not toward us, perpendicular to the prison.

  Then more rustling and running from the opposite side.

  A shout I couldn’t make out. Another shot. Different gun this time.

  A figure running toward us. Cardigan. Getting close. Merrill behind him, gaining.

  Urge to stand, move toward him. Staying with Anna.

  Merrill overtaking him, tripping him. Cardigan crashing hard on the forest floor.

  Merrill snatching him up, zip-tying his wrists behind him, moving over toward us.

  “Think they only two of ’em,” he said. “One down. One runnin’.”

  “What’re you doin’ here?” I asked.

  30

  Her ex,” Merrill said.

  “Huh?”

  I was helping Anna to her feet, continuing to scan the area as I did.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  She nodded.

  I hugged and kissed her and held her for a long moment.

  Above us, the moon continued to disappear incrementally.

  “Whatta you mean, my ex?” Anna asked.

  “He hobblin’ over here,” Merrill said, jerking his head back in the direction he had just come from. “I’a let him tell you.”

  “He’s alive?” Anna asked.

  “But we better walk toward him if we want to see him anytime soon.”