The good thing about the truck was there were no windows in the back, a slotted panel at the top of the wall allowed for a little light and air to filter in, but he had no idea which route we were taking. I suspected that normally there would have been two officers with me, but since my melt down and complete compliance, I guessed they thought they were safe with just Dean. I was also surprised not to have an escort. Did they not view me as a high profile murderer? I wasn’t sure whether to be a little insulted about that.
The truck bumped along a little and swerved. I watched Dean bang on the partition between the driver and us. He banged some more when the truck came to a halt. The partition was pulled back.
“We've got a fucking flat,” I heard. It was an old line, but effective.
I watched Dean reach for his gun, why, I didn’t know. I was cuffed and chained to the fucking bench.
The rear door swung open, and before he could form the words his open mouth suggested were coming, he was dead. He slumped to one side.
Richard climbed into the back of the truck and I smiled up at him. He grabbed the keys from Dean’s pocket and released me; I rubbed at my wrists. Before I climbed down from the truck, I straightened Dean up; I wanted him looking toward the door, on display for whoever found him.
A car pulled up alongside us, I opened the rear door and slid across the cool leather.
I smiled. “Time to go home,” Uncle Richard said.
I couldn’t speak; I just stared. Corey was on the phone, pacing. All I could think about was Jo. Dean’s wife would be sitting at home, assuming her husband would return at some point. The nearest town was thirty or so miles away, they had nearly an hour start on us, long enough to have gotten there and disappeared.
Corey was calling on every resource we had and begging for more. I heard him ask for aerial support, ground support, the urgency in his voice giving no reason for denial. I took a couple of steps back and sat on the hood of my car. Corey eventually sat beside me. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one, then offered it to me. I inhaled, fighting the cough as the smoke hit my lungs, then exhaled slowly. The headrush was instant and I closed my eyes.
“We’ll find him,” Corey said.
I opened my eyes to look at him. I slowly shook my head. “I don’t think you will.”
We’d been searching for that cult for years; they were spread out and well hidden. They moved constantly, always a step or two in front of whichever law enforcement agency was on their tail. I’d lost count of the deaths that could be attributed to them, of the families devastated in their quest for an illegal lifestyle. I was one man, but at that moment, when I raised my face to look back into the dead eyes of Dean, I promised him. If it took the rest of my life to do so, I’d find Thomas, Richard, all the elders, and I’d wipe them out.
I’d do it for Dean, for Jo, for the children they would never have together. I’d do it for Eddie, for Corey, for Gabriel even. Mostly, I’d do it for me. I’d become the cult, I’d embrace it, and then I’d wipe it from the face of the earth.
The sound of sirens could be heard, getting louder the closer the vehicles got. I pushed myself from the hood and flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out under my sneaker. I walked to the side of my car and opened the rear door. Reaching in, I grabbed a t-shirt from my bag and dragged it over my head.
Within a few minutes more, one end of the road was sealed off, Corey was directing everyone, and I stood to the side, having no role and feeling completely useless. For a while, no one came and spoke to me. I guess people just didn’t know what to say. Some had lost partners in the past and it was those that, as they passed me by, placed a hand on my shoulder, or offered their condolences.
While everyone was busy, taking no notice of me. I slid behind the wheel of my car. I started the engine and ignoring the shouts, pulled away from the roadside. I dodged the two cruisers that had been parked haphazardly across the road and drove. My cell started to ring. I picked it up from the passenger seat, rolled down my window and threw it. I had the phone Corey had given me, it would be the only one I needed. I glanced in my rearview mirror and watched as Corey raised a hand, it wasn’t a command to return but a goodbye wave.
It was dark when I saw the lights of a service station ahead. I was tired, my eyes gritty from the dust kicked up and blown through my open window. I was thirsty and hungry. I pulled in, thankful the store was still open. I refueled the car and headed in. I grabbed a couple of bottles of water, some chips, and a sandwich that looked older than the ones we’d served up to Thomas. I asked for a couple of packs of cigarettes, a lighter, paid, and returned to my car.
I was less than an hour from my destination but night was drawing in. Attached to the service station was a small, rundown motel. I returned to the store, paid for a night and then drove to the parking lot.
The room I’d rented was sparse and very dated. Floral drapes hung rigid with dust, I imagined, over a cracked window. The air conditioner sounded like the engine of a jet but it worked. There was a double bed against one wall and a scratched dresser opposite. I placed my gym bag on top and grabbed some toiletries. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, a small hand sink, and a shower.
The water stuttered, cold and discolored initially. I let it run for a moment before slipping off my clothes. When I stood under the weak jet of water, I closed my eyes. The warmth of my tears as they flowed down my cheeks gave me some comfort from the lukewarm water. I placed my hands against the cracked tiled wall, bowed my head, and sobbed.
I found a scratchy, threadbare towel hung on the back of the bathroom door, and wrapped it around my waist. I didn’t care that it didn’t look clean. It was as I sat on the edge of the bed that I saw the cell Corey had given me, light up. I picked it up and read a text message.
Keep me up to date, Mich. You’re not alone in this. If you need help, you call.
I didn’t reply, there was no need to. What I did do though was turn the phone off and remove the battery. I’d only reconnect should I have to do what he asked, if I needed help.
I lay down on the bed and shivered as the cold air connected with my wet body. My tears had dried, my mind was empty, and my body was numb. In that moment, I lost all emotion except one. Hatred. It boiled in my stomach creating acid that burned my throat as it traveled up. I swallowed it down. I would not release that acid, no matter how nauseous I became. It was my reminder that I had a job to do, a mission to complete, and I wouldn’t rest until I had.
At some point I must have closed my eyes. It was daylight when I opened them again.
I dressed quickly, gulped down a bottle of water and took one bite from the sandwich I hadn’t eaten the night before. It hurt my throat to swallow the stale bread. I threw the remainder in the trash and left the room.
I found a diner on the outskirts of town and ordered breakfast. The strong, hot black coffee was welcome and gave me the kick I needed to think. I didn't have a plan; I knew where I needed to start, and how I wanted it to end. But the middle part was the tricky bit.
I ate my eggs and toast and drank my coffee. I watched the diner begin to fill and listened to normality. There was no chatter about murders, police inefficiency, deciding who the killer was, here. None of the usual whispered conversations I’d overhear back home. A small pang hit me in the gut when I thought of home. I’d find an Internet café, if the town had one, and send instructions on what to do with my mother. I hadn’t had time to leave details. I’d wire some money to the funeral home from my savings account and leave them to deal with it all. Whether I’d ever get back home was something I didn’t want to think about.
I wasn’t sure if I was on the run or not. Corey knew where I was heading, and I trusted him to keep quiet. But if it meant losing his job, he’d tell, and I wouldn’t blame him for that.
I finished up my breakfast and a second cup of coffee before I looked at my watch. I didn’t want to arrive too early. After le
aving some money on the table, I made my way back to my car. I’d trade it in for a something a little more suitable, once I knew where I was heading.
I took a slow drive through the town reminiscing on the last time I’d been there. The hardware store still had the hatstand beside the door. Outside the grocery store were two women with strollers, laughing and chatting, enjoying their morning. I passed the small school; the children were waiting to be led to class and their excited chatter floated through the window. I’d grown to love the town and my time there had been too short. It wasn’t dissimilar to my own, and it’s not like I could say without the serial killer, because it’d had its problems. Unlike mine, here was a small community that came together, that respected their sheriff and law enforcement. I carried on through and out the other side.
A half-hour later, I came to a dusty track on my left. At first I came to a halt, not entirely sure I was doing the right thing. To turn up, unexpected, might prove a problem. I had no choice, though. I shifted gears and slowly drove toward the wooden house. The last time I’d been here, the house was a few feet closer to the barn. It had been knocked down and a new one built. As I parked and exited the car, I admired the craftsmanship.
A deck ran the length of the two-story house. I spotted an old rocking chair and chuckled. Prop a shotgun beside it, add an old, bearded man in a checkered shirt and with a pipe, and we could have been in a clichéd movie. Before I made a move toward the house, the front door opened. A young boy walked out, he paused, looking at me. He called out behind him and was soon joined by a young girl. I knew who she was. The two children looked so alike it was uncanny. Both blond, both with big blue eyes. Taylor resembled her mother, Sierra, and each time I met her, the resemblance was more so. She looked at me with her head cocked to one side, she recognized me, but I guess she wasn’t sure from where.
“Daddy,” she called over her shoulder.
I stood in the yard and waited.
Gabriel came to the door; he hesitated before ushering the kids inside. He closed the door behind him. I watched as he shook a cigarette from the pack he drew from his shirt pocket, he offered one to me. I walked toward him and took it.
“Gabriel,” I said, as he raised his lighter for me.
“Mich, long time no see,” he said.
I took a long draw of the cigarette, again resisting the urge to cough my guts up.
“Take a seat,” he said, walking to a collection of sofas on the deck. “Coffee?”
“Coffee would be good.”
He called through the front door before sitting.
“So?” he said, leaning toward me.
I sighed. “Taylor’s growing up fast,” I said.
“She is, looks like her mother more every day.”
“Who’s the boy?”
“My son, not biological, of course.” He was a little evasive, but then, that was Gabriel all over.
I chuckled. A woman leaving the house with a tray in her hands interrupted me from any further conversation. It held two mugs, a pot of coffee and a jug of creamer. She placed it on the small coffee table between us.
“Vicky, this is Mich. He’s with…” He turned to me. “Are you still with the FBI?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m technically unemployed right now.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mich,” she said, extending her hand to me. “I’ll be inside if you need me.” She smiled at Gabriel before leaving us.
“Vicky, huh?”
“My wife, that was her son you saw.”
“You remarried, I’m pleased for you.”
“I never thought I would, but you know, second chances and all that.”
I poured two mugs of coffee and picked one up. I took a sip. I watched Gabriel exhale his smoke, lifting his face to the sky as he did so.
“This isn’t a social call, Gabriel,” I said.
“I didn’t think it would be.”
“I need your help.”
He picked up his mug and rested back in his chair. At the same time Vicky ushered the two kids, dressed in their school uniforms, from the door. Both kids ran to Gabriel. He raised his arm, keeping the cigarette away as he kissed them before they were bundled into a truck.
He stared at me. “What do you need, Mich?”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning is always a good place.”
“It’s going to be a long story.”
“I have all the time in the world right now.”
I started with Canada.
We’d been talking for hours; at some point we’d moved into the kitchen to refresh the coffee pot. Vicky hadn’t returned and Gabriel told me she’d gone on to work, she was the local vet. Although Gabriel had interrupted a couple of times to ask a question, he’d mainly stayed quiet and listened. The only break in our conversation came when Sam, a ranch hand, came into the kitchen. He silently filled his travel mug then disappeared again.
“And now I’m here. I’m going for her, Gabriel. I’m going for them all.”
“You know for sure Eddie was brought up in the cult?” he asked.
“I don’t, I only have what Thomas told me.”
I watched him rise and walk to a pine dresser that stood proud in the kitchen. He leaned down and opened a cupboard, retrieving a metal box. I watched as he opened a drawer and pulled out a small key. He unlocked the box and placed it on the table.
“If Eddie was brought up in the convent, she’d be in here.”
“How did you get this?” I asked, looking at the box. He shrugged his shoulders, not willing to give up that information just yet.
He pulled out some papers, photographs, journals, and we started to read through. Some of what I read sickened me. Some of it was familiar. Gabriel slid a photograph toward me.
“Could you pick her out from this?” he asked. I looked at a picture of a group of children. I shook my head.
“No. But here’s a document with the name Edwina Cole. The date of birth makes this Eddie the same age.”
“You know Eddie, or even Cole, isn’t likely to be her real name, don’t you?”
I nodded. Gabriel had found after, way after her death, his wife, Sierra, was in fact called Savannah. He refused to acknowledge that name and always referred to her by the name she’d wanted him to know her as.
I scanned through the document. It said that an Edwina Cole had been brought into the convent on the death of her mother, father unknown. She had been fostered out to a family in Angus, which was where the cult initially started. There was a brief description of her, same colored hair and eyes, but no photograph. Confirmation came on the second page. It gave details of her education, the university I knew she’d attended. Someone had kept track of her.
“This is her,” I said, laying the document back down on the table.
I ran my hands over my face.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, it lists her schools, university,” I pointed to the page. “Gabe, do you know where they are?” I asked, hating the pleading that had crept into my voice.
He raised his face to the ceiling.
“It’s taken me a long time to stop looking over my shoulder, Mich. To not hold my breath every time my daughter, or my son, leave this house. For a long time, I wouldn’t let them out of my sight. I still sleep with a gun under my pillow, with bolts on every door and window because I know they’ll be back. One day, they’ll come back to finish what they couldn’t.”
He stood and refilled our mugs with coffee. He kept his back to me while he spoke.
“And I’ll be waiting and more than ready. If you want my help, Mich, I’m yours but it's my way. And there’s no police involvement, not ever.”
He turned toward me. “There’s something else I have to say, before you make your decision,” I said.
He raised his mug to his lips, staring at me over the rim. He had changed, in the couple of years that I’d known him; he had hardened. Gone was the man who grie
ved for his deceased wife. Gone was the man who wanted nothing more than to protect his daughter. Instead, standing in front of me at that moment, was a man who had murder in his eyes. Whose blood pumped fast around his body, causing a vein on the side of neck to pulse. A man determined to seek revenge.
“My mother was the sister of Daniel Romney. Remember him? Fake fed.”
A slow smile crept to his face as he lowered his mug. “Fake fed, you ribbed me, if I remember, for falling for them.”
“I did. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’ve just given me the best news, Mich. We have the perfect way in.”
My face hurt, one eye was half closed from the punch I’d received. I had been stripped naked and tied to a post in the courtyard. The elders had surrounded me, children were forced to sit in perfectly neat rows in front of me. I was on show, entertainment, a warning to those that defied. I was whipped until the skin on my back hung in ribbons and the pain was just piercing, ice-cold. And I loved every second of it. My cock was rigid, pulsing with every swish of the birch branch. I wanted to come. I wanted to shoot my load over the pole I was facing. I didn’t get the chance though. I passed out on the fortieth whip.
I’d woken in darkness. I ached; my whole body ached. I was lying on a cold, damp earth floor, a basement somewhere. One ankle was chained to a metal ring on the floor. I’d expected punishment when I’d returned. I’d welcomed it. I didn’t shed one tear; I think I was incapable of that. I’d proved my worth by taking the beating dished out by my uncles, the elders.
What was I punished for? I’d ruined Eddie by fucking her. She wasn’t a divine child, her mother was a worthless whore who had been killed off, so I was told, but she was valuable. I wasn’t supposed to harm her, just deliver her home. She hadn’t done her duty, she hadn’t brought Mich home, not that he realized where home was. She was the bait, not that she wanted to be, of course. She had defied and refused to continue her task, she had refused to return.
A Deadly Sin: An epic dark thriller that will have you wanting to leave the lights on. Page 25