Death Prophets (Strange Gravities Book 3)

by Steve Armstrong

  When Sarah started college, she began to suffer from schizophrenia. Imaginary voices stalked her, whispering the evil intentions that others—even her own family—harbored against her. For a while, the real became blurred. But when the medication and therapy kicked in, Sarah became more like herself again. She returned to the childhood faith her parents had instilled in her, the same belief system that motivated and guided so many of John’s choices, though had somehow skipped over Matt without taking root. She spoke about C.S. Lewis often. His writings about Christianity made sense to her.

  Unfortunately, those days didn’t last. Sarah met a young man named Brad at a Christian group for young adults. His voice—real flesh and blood, unlike the previous voices that had created a cacophony in her mind—took over her life. In six months, Brad undid all the progress in Sarah’s mental health. Perhaps he only wanted to control her, but he destroyed her instead. Matt couldn’t stand at Sarah’s graveside, or even think of his sister, without images of Brad’s pugnacious face and smug smile marring those moments.

  He placed his hand on the headstone, tracing her name with his finger. “You should have told me, Sarah. You should have told me what he was doing to you. I would’ve found a way to get his voice out of your head, even if it meant killing him. I still would.”

  Leaves behind Matt crunched. He turned to see John and Julia—holding hands just as he expected—drawing near. They were dressed in their Sunday best, probably on their way back from church. He doubted they could have heard his vow to Sarah, but John already knew how Matt felt about Brad.

  “Sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt,” John said, his voice low and his manner somber.

  “There’s nothing to interrupt,” Matt replied, straightening up to relieve the pressure on his knees. “Happy Sister’s Suicide day.” He looked at Julia, who was frowning at him. “Hey, Jules.”

  “Hi, Matt.” His brother’s fiancée’s expression turned sympathetic as she swept her hair away from her eyes.

  John looked down at the bouquet. “Glads. You bring them?”

  Matt shook his head. “Mom and Dad were here earlier. They left the flowers. Seems this is a popular spot this afternoon.”

  John nodded. “You okay?”

  “Me? Yeah, sure, fine.” Matt backed a few steps away from the grave. “What about you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Matt lifted his eyes to the clouds overhead. “This is the new normal, right? I mean, this is what October 17 is going to be like, probably for the rest of our lives.”

  Another cold blast of wind rifled through the cemetery. Julia leaned into John, but did so delicately, as if she feared pressing too hard against him would topple him.

  “You seem like you’re getting around okay. I thought you might be on crutches or something,” Matt said.

  “Julia would like me to be, but they were kind of a nuisance. Besides, I’m getting around okay without them.” His fiancée gave him a stern look but said nothing.

  “Do you want a moment alone?” Matt asked, gesturing toward the headstone. He didn’t know what John did or thought about when he stood over Sarah’s grave, though he guessed his brother’s thoughts about their sister’s passing differed immensely from his own.

  “Yeah, sure,” John replied.

  “Come on, Jules. Let’s give him some space,” Matt said, knowing full well John’s idea of ‘alone’ probably included her, too. But Matt slipped his arm inside Julia’s and began to lead her away. She exchanged glances with John as both appeared slightly uncomfortable with the situation but neither verbally protested.

  “How is he doing?” Matt asked once they were out of earshot from John.

  “He’s good—getting stronger every day. But I think he’s getting impatient. He wants to go back to work.”

  “Maybe he has a little unfinished business from his last case?” Matt asked, his tone suggestive.

  Julia’s jaw became rigid. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe there’s still some work that needs to be done before that case is closed.”

  “The case is closed.” She looked away.

  “Really? Well, I haven’t seen the official report, so maybe it is. But there’s something about this case that people don’t want me to know. John doesn’t want me to know about it, Felicia Monroe doesn’t want me to know about it, and by the look on your face right now, you don’t want me to know about it, either.”

  Julia glanced back at him but remained frozen. But her expression hinted at the existence of some hidden knowledge, even if she audibly withheld it from Matt.

  “You know what else I can tell by your face, Julia? You’re scared. Something about this case has you spooked. You’re worried about John’s safety. I am, too. That’s why I’m asking these questions. Now please, tell me, was someone else at the scene when John got shot? Please, Julia, I can help.”

  She glanced over at John, who had taken a knee in front of Sarah’s gravestone, perhaps partaking in some kind of prayer. “John doesn’t want you to know about this.”

  “About what?”

  “That there was another person at the scene,” Julia said in a whisper.

  “Who?” Matt lowered his voice, though not quite to the threshold of a whisper.

  “Someone connected to the girl who was being abused. He came to save her.”

  “Did he shoot the abuser and his brother?”

  “Yes. Kind of.”

  “Kind of? What do you mean, kind of? Like it was an accident?”

  “No. It’s...complicated.”

  “Then why does it seem like the official record is that this was a murder-suicide?”

  “Because it kind of was.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, I know, you said that before.” John had risen and placed one hand on the headstone. “Is this guy a threat, Julia?”

  “No. If he wanted to kill John, he could have.”

  “Why do you seem so unconvinced?”

  Her eyes darted over to John, then back again to Matt. “Because it’s-”

  “Complicated. Yes, we covered that. Give me his name.”

  John turned around and started ambling toward them.

  “John wouldn’t want me to tell you.”

  “Give me his name. If you’re worried at all, if you think there’s any chance he might come after John, give me his name.”

  John now stood ten feet away. “Josh Williams,” she whispered.

  “Josh Williams?”

  She nodded. John finally made it to them. Julia placed her arms around him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go home,” John said.

  “Okay.” She reached up and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

  “You want to come over today? We could watch some football or something,” John said to Matt.

  He contemplated his brother’s offer. Matt was tempted to pass and begin his pursuit of Josh Williams. But just as he was about to say ‘no’, he changed his mind.

  “Yeah, that sounds cool.”

  For the next few hours, John and Matt watched football at John’s place. Julia graciously served them nachos and other football appropriate snack items. Matt offered to help, but she turned him down. Most likely, she refused his assistance because she wanted the brothers to spend some quality time together. In the three years since Sarah had taken her life, it was the most normal thing they had done together. Once again, sports worked as an icebreaker between men, and soon the brothers were discussing the ups and downs of the Giants, Jets, and Cowboys. Before they knew it, they had transitioned into cases the two were working on. They even shared a laugh or two. Granted, nothing they said rose above what they might have revealed to casual acquaintances. But if Matt was honest, the time together felt kind of good.

  And so later, when John was in the bathroom and Julia was in the kitchen, Matt almost felt guilty when he slipped the tiny listening device into John’
s cell phone battery compartment. But John had secrets. Normally, Matt wouldn’t have cared about them. In this case, however, these secrets could harm John. At least, that was how Matt justified his violation of his brother’s privacy. By the time John returned from the bathroom, Matt had successfully installed the bug and moved toward the door.

  “Are you leaving?” John asked, seeming disappointed.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m working on this new case.” Matt took his coat off the rack by the door and fit his arms through the sleeves.

  “On Sunday?”

  “Yeah. You know how it is. When you find out new information, you have to look into it right away. And earlier today, I found some new information.”

  “Okay, well good luck,” John said.

  “Thanks. See you. Bye Jules. Thanks for everything.”

  She gave Matt a foreboding look as he exited, allowing John and Julia to bask in the sanctity of what would soon be their home. As for Matt, he had the comfort of a name. Josh Williams. It was enough to get started on.

  11

  Josh Williams stepped into O’Malley’s Tap, a quintessential beer joint and sports bar in the middle of town. He scanned the room until he found his mark, Billy Hunt, seated at the bar, watching the Raiders-Chargers game between swigs of frothy beer. Williams made his way over to the bar and sat on the empty stool next to the rather large man he’d been following. A short and stout barkeep with prolific sideburns approached him.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Draft beer,” Josh replied.

  The bartender grabbed a large glass mug and placed it under the tap. Once it was full, he placed it in front of Williams, then walked over to the other end of the bar to take care of other customers.

  Williams took a drink, then made a point to shake his head in a very demonstrable fashion. “Man it is good to be in here, away from my wife. Am I right?” he asked Hunt. The man glanced briefly at Williams and smiled absently. But he clearly cared more about the progress of the Raiders’ drive than he did the troubles of the man sitting next to him.

  “All that witch does is nag me, boss me around, and try to control every little thing I do. I can’t stand it,” Josh said. Again, the man on the stool next to him barely acknowledged his rant. Hunt took another swallow from his mug and then wiped some foam out of his goatee with his arm.

  “Every guy I know, it’s the same thing,” Josh continued. “I mean if it weren’t for the obvious, there’s no reason to even bother with women. And that obvious thing isn’t so obvious, anymore. I mean it barely ever happens, actually. Definitely not enough to make up for what she puts me through.”

  The man with the goatee continued to watch the game, unresponsive. “This doesn’t sound familiar to you?” Josh asked.

  “Nah.” Hunt drained the remaining amount of alcohol from his mug.

  “Nah? So what, you found the unicorn of women?”

  Hunt shook his head. “No, it’s all how you treat them. You have to treat them right.”

  “You’ll have to let me in on your secret,” Josh said. “Can I buy you another drink?”

  “Sure.”

  Josh flagged down the bartender for another round of drinks. The man with the goatee was starting to trust him. Six beers and two quarters of football later, Hunt was talking openly with Josh. Though they mainly discussed mundane football topics and never broached Billy’s secret to handling women, Josh was pleased with the progress. He didn’t even attempt to bring up the topic he wanted to know about most. That could be done later.

  “I better be going, man,” Billy said, once the Chargers knelt down to seal their victory.

  “Why, is the missus going to be mad at you?” Josh asked.

  Billy waved his hand dismissively. “Nah. Like I said, I know how to handle her.”

  “But you never even told me your secret,” Josh said, pulling out his wallet and dropping enough cash to settle his tab. “Here, I’ll walk you out.”

  The two men headed for the door, Billy taking the lead. They stepped out into the darkness of the October night. Their breath fogged the air. “So what is your secret?”

  Billy stopped and turned toward Josh so he could make his point without misunderstanding. “You have to treat’em with a firm hand.”

  “Firm hand? You mean…” Josh made a slapping motion with his right hand.

  Billy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, exactly.” He started walking again; Josh followed.

  “But don’t they get you arrested or leave you when you knock them around?”

  “Nah. They don’t turn you in. And maybe they leave for a bit, but they always come back in the end. See, people will say that they’re too scared to leave, but I don’t think that’s it. I think that deep down, women like it when a guy gets rough. I know there’s all that PC bullshit going around about how men are supposed to treat women, but women like a real man, someone who’s not afraid to get physical. That’s what they respect.”

  “Are you sure they like it?” Josh turned down a smaller side street and Billy followed suit, too engrossed in dispensing his wisdom on women to dictate their course any longer.

  “Trust me, man, they like it.”

  “You ever leave marks on them?”

  “Yeah, sure. I mean, I don’t want to, but sometimes they won’t back down until you do. I mean, you can’t argue with a woman, right?”

  “So Billy, have you ever, you know, made her do it when she didn’t want to?” Josh clenched his fist as he asked the question and checked his surroundings. No one else was on that narrow street. Most of its shops were closed for the night.

  Billy laughed. “Are you kidding? If I didn’t, I’d never get any. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

  “Yeah, you do Billy. Besides, they probably like that too, don’t they?”

  “Oh yeah. I think a lot of women get off that way.” For the first time since they left O’Malley’s, the goateed man surveyed his surroundings. He didn’t notice the trash can levitating into the air behind him. “Hey man, what are we doing on this street? I didn’t park my car back here.”

  He looked back at Josh whose gaze was directed upward at a sign for a Grocery and Lotto store. It creaked and shook as Billy, locked in place, stared at it.

  “What the hell?” Billy murmured.

  Josh took a step away from Billy, just as the large, old-fashioned sign came plummeting down on the self-professed woman beater. Josh waited a moment for the debris to settle before coming closer. He kicked Jimmy’s lifeless legs, which protruded out from under the sign.

  “I’ve known a woman who knew a man like you. They don’t like it, Billy. Not one bit.”

  Josh remained for a while, admiring the handiwork of his justice, while he waited for his anger to subside. The garbage can that had previously risen from the ground came crashing back down with a clang. Josh breathed deeply. He scanned the street, which was still empty but wouldn’t stay that way forever. People had seen him leave the bar with Billy. Being killed by a falling sign would attract attention, though would probably still be labeled accidental. Whatever the case, Josh couldn’t take the risk. He continued down the side street and doubled back to the parking lot behind O’Malley’s where his car was stashed.

  Once Josh reached his car, he checked his phone. He scrolled through the previous messages he had received. There was only one person who texted him these days. He cued up the last message from the mysterious individual: We need to meet. He typed his reply: I’m ready. When and where?

  12

  On Monday evening, Amy accompanied Grace into the foyer of Landry and Johnson funeral home. Before they passed through the open double doors into the main floor of the funeral house, Grace stopped.

  “Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.” She looked back to Amy for confirmation.

  “It’s your call,” Amy said. “We’re not here on my account.”

  “I just feel like this is wrong, somehow.”

  �
��Like I said, if you want to go, we can. I just want to make sure you won’t regret giving up this opportunity to see him later. Because this is your last chance.”

  “What if people ask who we are? What do we say?”

  Amy shrugged. “Don’t worry. At most wakes, there’s a bunch of people around, and people kind of come and go. I’m sure no one will say anything to us.”

  Grace inhaled and passed through the double doors. A man wearing a plain black suit with a bronze nameplate that read, ‘George’ smiled somberly at them. “Won’t you please sign in?” he asked, gesturing to a small book on a stand.

  Grace hesitated before complying. A few other people had already signed in. She scrawled her real name down, though neglected to leave an address. Amy did the same.

  After the two women had followed his directions, George led them down the hallway to a room on the right. Once again, Grace froze. Only a handful of people lingered around the room. One older woman with a tear-stained face and soft, graying curls sat in a chair that faced the door near the coffin. Three of the other people looked to be about the same age as the woman in the chair, while another male and female couple appeared to be Grace’s age.

  “Is there something you need?” George asked, perplexed why the young woman hadn’t entered yet.

  “Too late now,” Amy whispered into Grace’s ear, gently pushing her hand into Grace’s back.

  By now, the crying woman had looked up and was watching them. Amy was right—there was no turning back now. Grace stepped forward into the carpeted room surrounded by floral printed wallpaper. The crying woman rose from her seat to intersect these two new entrants.

  “Hi, I’m Sharon, Thomas’s mother.” The woman smiled through her tears at Grace and Amy.

  “I’m Amy. We’re very sorry for your loss.” Amy extended her hand to Sharon Wilson, acting like she belonged there as much as anyone else in the room.

  Grace introduced herself in a much softer voice and also shook hands with Sharon, though she avoided eye contact with the older woman as much as possible.