Exorcized (Episode Five: The Nightshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  She needed to question the family further, to prod and poke at Gordon Truman and find the holes in his story. He knew more than he was telling her. Or, was hiding things he never wanted to see the light of day. Secrets she understood, but not if they kept her from finding who killed Father Harry. And if the priest actually raped those boys.

  Gerri’s instincts told her the moment she pulled up to the front of the house something was wrong. Light shone out through a crack around the front door, washing over the darkening patio stones leading up to the front step. Gun out of its holster, she eased her way to the entry, one boot pushing gently against the bottom of the door until it swung inward.

  Gerri’s stomach rumbled, hunger hitting her like a fist. The lock was busted open, but there was no sign of struggle in the front entry.

  No, that came as she rounded the edge of the stairs and the coppery scent that triggered her starvation response was made visible. She stared at the giant pool of blood oozing out from under Gordon Truman. She didn’t have to check to know he was already dead, but she did anyway. While her burning gaze found Maryanne face down on the kitchen floor, her own puddle of crimson engulfing her, soaking into the pale fabric of her skirt.

  But the scrawled drawing on the wall caught her attention the most. She knew that symbol, was already reaching for her phone when her eyes traveled its circumference.

  Jackson answered on the first ring.

  ***

  INT. – TRUMAN HOUSE – NOON

  Ray eased through the doorway into the Truman house, her kit bumping against the door jamb on her way through. She spotted Gerri immediately, as she often did, hands on her hips, hair shining like a beacon in the hallway, drawing the medical examiner to the scene of the crime.

  The detective spun as Ray murmured her name. One look at the redhead’s fury and Ray knew her friend was on the brink of snapping.

  “I need TOD,” Gerri snapped. “And COD. Now.”

  Ray didn’t comment, setting down her kit with her usual calm, the sound of the latches clicking open loud in the quiet that followed the detective’s demands. With a relaxed demeanor she didn’t feel, Ray slipped on a pair of gloves before bending over Gordon Truman’s body.

  His neck had been cut, with a knife of some kind, probably a thicker bladed weapon rather than the fine line of a scalpel. It was one long, fast stroke, though from the lack of weight to the slice on the right side, she didn’t need the image of Gordon’s death in her head to tell her what happened.

  “Hunting knife or something similar,” she said, voice low and level while everyone hovered and stared. “Attacked from the front, from the appearance of the cut, by someone right handed.” Right to left, one swipe. “It would take a great deal of strength, so I’m assuming a man, but I’ll need more time to give you a positive on that.” Ray ignored Gerri’s note taking, slipping free her thermometer and firmly inserting it into Truman’s lower abdomen. Another long hushed wait later and she read off the dial. “98.1 degrees. Less than an hour.”

  Gerri spun and stalked off while Ray exhaled, relief her friend had her answers washing away the adrenaline that held the medical examiner in her rigid professionalism. Binks crouched next to her with a wriggle of his eyebrows, a compatriot in the face of Gerri’s anger.

  She smiled back and went to work. Or, tried to. The sound of a voice she knew turned her around.

  “Was it Gage?”

  ***

  INT. – TRUMAN HOUSE – NOON

  Gerri almost put her fist through the wall beside Cici’s head when the therapist made the very bad mistake of showing her face. “I have no idea,” Gerri said. “But the fucking symbol drawn in human blood on the kitchen wall seems to suggest that might be the case.” She leaned into the nervous therapist. “Not to mention the Truman’s boy is missing and presumed kidnapped. What do you think, Doc?”

  “This is all my fault.” Well, she had that right. Gerri’s temper dipped a notch, enough she could focus on listening to Cici and not hurting her. “I underestimated him.”

  Gerri ground her teeth together while Binks interrupted.

  “Detective.” She turned to face him with a loud tsk. “Found something.”

  She crossed to him, boots thudding on the tile floor. Binks pointed out a smudge on the ceramic with the tip of a tiny plastic spatula. “Looks like the same powder I found at the Schaefer murder scene.”

  “Did the lab ID it yet?” Gerri crouched to get a closer look as he scooped up a thin line of it and deposited the substance in a dish identical to the one he showed her at the Richards’s house.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I’ll have them compare it to this when it’s back.” He shook it gently. “Just a guess, but it looks like some kind of sediment or crushed rock.”

  “Gerri.” She stood, faced off with Cici. The therapist seemed harried, but determined. “If it was Gage, this is likely some kind of spree. But I have no idea why he would come after these people.”

  Gerri’s mind when to the symbol. “Truman and Schaefer were part of the same marine unit.” She lunged for the living room, looked around for what she needed. Jackson hadn’t come back to her with the list of other members yet, but she might not need one. With an ah-ha of discovery, she pulled down a photo from the wall and took a close look.

  Faces, all young, dressed in fatigues with guns and grins. The plaque below read Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment. Gerri spotted Truman in the front left easily. He hadn’t changed much. It took her a little longer to identify Schaefer.

  None of the other faces looked familiar. Until she spotted someone in the background of the picture. Someone not with the group, but watching them.

  That face she knew. “We have to get to the church,” she said, tossing the photo to the sofa and striding past Cici. Ray stood with her, both of them anxious.

  “Why do you think he’s going back there?” Cici joined her as Gerri pounded her way down the sidewalk and to her car.

  “Because,” she said, jerking the door open, noting the fact Ray was with them as Cici slid into the passenger’s seat. “I know who his next target is.”

  ***

  INT. – GERRI’S CAR to ST. MARY’S UNDERCROFT – AFTERNOON

  Gerri glanced sideways into Cici’s bag, noting the massive amount of drugs she carried with her.

  “I’m not letting him get away again,” the therapist said, grim and determined. “You can’t kill him, Gerri, Please. Just get me close enough and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  No promises. Gerri drove too fast, broke as many laws as she dared, her siren blaring, light flashing from her dash and grille as she barreled her way from the suburbs downtown to the cathedral.

  None of them spoke on the drive, Ray’s silence and Cici’s intensity only making Gerri nervous and she wished, as she pulled up outside the massive building, she’d come alone. But, there was no stopping the therapist or the medical examiner, the pair out of the car and running up the steps almost before Gerri had the thing in park.

  She raced after them, hand on her weapon though still holstered, at least until she was inside. No need to panic anyone on the street. But, the moment the detective passed through the doors into the foyer of the cathedral, the scent of blood jerked her hand forward, Glock .45 up and feet moving now with silent speed into the interior of the church.

  Ray and Cici had the foresight to stay the hell out of her way, standing to one side, waiting for her to precede them. Gerri’s roving eyes caught the brunette’s hand on the therapist’s arm and the grim expression Cici shot at Ray. The detective silently thanked Ray for doing the right thing. Because at this point, she had no idea if she could trust Cici not to get herself into trouble.

  The interior of the church was gloomy, but muted, the sunlight outside dulled and broken through the towering stained-glass windows soaring overhead. Gerri let her nose lead her, staying low, head swinging back and forth as she passed each pew, but keeping her gun focused on the dark lum
p taking shape at the base of the stairs to the altar.

  She reached the bishop, crouching to take a pulse, happy to hear him groan softly in response to her touch. “Where did he go?”

  Harrow slowly sat up with her help, Ray appearing at her side to support the clergyman. Blood ran down the side of his face in a slow trickle. Gerri didn’t have time to wonder how such a small amount of bleeding could have triggered her caution response. She’d worry about what was wrong with her later. Right now, she had an escaped murderer—most likely a murderer, at least—to catch.

  “It was Gage.” The bishop met Gerri’s eyes, his full of pain, and not just from the blow he took. “He had Curtis Truman with him.” The boy. She nodded, assumed as much. “I saw him heading for the rear of the church before I passed out.” He pointed to the far right behind the altar where a door stood half-open into more darkness.

  “Where does it lead?” Gerri struggled with patience as he pulled himself together enough to answer.

  “Another section of the basement, accessible only to the clergy and cathedral staff.” He shook his head. “I have no idea why he would want to go down there.”

  “Have you seen Teddy Sommers?” She offered him her hand and pulled him gently to his feet when he accepted. He leaned into Ray a moment.

  “Not since lauds, our morning prayers.” His eyes widened. “What’s happened?”

  Gerri left Ray to fill him in, following the path the Bishop said Gage took, trying not to think about the Truman’s boy. His parents both dead, and him in the grip of a madman who more than likely killed them and the priest he trusted.

  Someone was close behind her and, after turning her head just a fraction to find out, Gerri almost told Cici to go back and help Ray. But, instead, she ignored the therapist and headed down the narrow steps into the darkness below. The finger of illumination from her flashlight followed the end of her gun, sweeping down the steps and into a hall at the bottom. Gerri stopped a moment, listened, but heard nothing. Unlike the other end of the cathedral, this part of the church seemed ancient, the walls made of stone instead of covered in plaster, the floors the same, almost like flagstone. She was reminded of medieval castles as her boots trod the uneven surface deeper into the belly of the cathedral.

  Cici really needed to learn to breathe more quietly.

  Something rumbled up ahead, roared to life and, for an instant, Gerri’s brain went primeval, triggered by the darkness and the environment. But, it didn’t take her rational brain long to realize she was hearing the old, straining furnace bellowing its protest as it woke to do its duty.

  Furnace. Which meant furnace room and AC. And made her wonder if Teddy Sommers had an office down here. As her feet carried her toward the end of the hall and the steel door marked “Utility”, she had a thought.

  The kids talked about being drugged, disoriented. About being in the dark and smelling fuel, mustiness. She assumed a garage of some kind. But what if it had been the basement the priest brought them to?

  Gerri’s phone buzzed, worst possible timing. She stopped at the utility room door and fished it out, glancing at the screen. Message from Binks. The white powder was efflorescence, a form of salt commonly found in old, stone foundation basements.

  Bingo.

  “Stay back.” She hissed her command to the dark-faced therapist. “I mean it, Cici. If he comes at me, I’m taking my shot. But, if I can subdue him, I will. Okay? I’m not putting that boy’s life in any further danger.”

  Cici nodded, expression softening.

  Not sure if she could trust Cici’s sudden change of heart, Gerri reached for the door handle and gave it a gentle tug. It pulled open easily, on hinges that had to be freshly oiled. More darkness on the other side, but her flashlight gave her all the illumination she needed.

  The moment she opened the door and looked inside, her gun pointing into the black, it lit on the terrified face of Curtis Truman. And, above his, a masked one, a demon’s visage laughing at her from the dark.

  The stench of fuel was strong here, the loud churning of the ancient air conditioning almost on top of her. Gerri ignored the unevenness of the floor, the oppression of the thick air, the distraction of sounds and smells. Instead, her instincts widened outward, taking in all movement and structure of the space.It led back into the gloom further than her light could penetrate and she still maintained focus on Curtis. The ceiling felt low, the floor softer and quiet, the slippery feeling of bare dirt. She glanced down at the toe of her boot, just enough light shining down on the gray clay floor lined with veins of white powder.

  Gage had been down here, knew how to find it. The evidence was piling up against him, even as he pulled the boy tightly to him, jerking off the mask, tossing it to one side. But the knife he held to the boy’s throat, that never wavered.

  “Gerri!” Kinsey burst in behind her, unknowing, unseeing, and not alone. Gerri caught sight of Father Dante with her, out of the corner of her eye, the pair coming to a startled and frightened halt next to Cici. “Ray sent for an ambulance and backup,” Kinsey finished in a whisper.

  “Gage.” Cici took a step forward while Gerri silently cursed her for not freaking listening to her orders, damn her all to hell. “Let Curtis go, please. Let’s talk about this.”

  Gage shook his head, face young and hurt. Someone had shaved his head with clippers, removing the heavy weight of matted hair, skimmed the same over his face, relieving him of his thick beard and mustache. Without the clotted, filthy mess to hide behind, he seemed about as frail and frightened as the boy who clung to his arm and wept, snot running down his chin to soak into the cuff of Gage’s shirt sleeve.

  “Nothing to talk about,” Gage said. “Never was. I have to kill him now.”

  Gerri’s finger left the side of her gun, slipping over the trigger. That was her cue. Breath slowed, her body stilled, heartbeat reducing as she drew in a long, slow breath and focused a bullet on the center of his forehead. She’d taken a shot like this before. There were always risks. But, she had to take Gage’s threat seriously.

  “You don’t want to hurt him,” Father Dante said, voice vibrating with pain. “Gage, Curtis has done nothing to you. If you need to kill anyone, take me.” He was moving then, forward, past Cici, toward the crazy guy who was ready to slit the throat of an innocent kid. In Gerri’s fucking line of fire.

  Fuck.

  “I’m not going to kill Curtis.” So rational suddenly, enough Gerri’s hyper focus broke, her finger stopping its squeeze despite the priest being in the way. Still ready to take out Gage the moment she could, Gerri listened, let her instincts tell her if he was lying. “I’m trying to protect him.”

  “From what, Gage?” Cici’s turn to get in her way. Gerri did swear this time, softly, to herself, easing sideways until she had a clear view again. But Gage’s hand had fallen from Curtis’s neck and the knife with it. The boy stood there, shaking and hugging himself.

  “From the real demon,” Gage said.

  “Just let him go, Gage.” Where the hell did Sommers come from? Gerri’s weapon whipped around on instinct, focusing on the custodian who stood with a gun of his own pointed at the young man. “No one else has to get hurt.”

  Gage’s reaction was powerful and instantaneous. He grasped a hold of Curtis’s shirt and shoved him behind him, screaming at the custodian in a language Gerri didn’t recognize. Cici started. Kinsey ran toward Gerri as Gage gestured at Sommers with his knife, still firmly holding the Truman boy in his grip.

  “That’s Aramaic,” Kinsey said, soft and hurried as she stopped at Gerri’s side, careful, the detective was happy to note, to stay out of her weapon’s range. “He’s speaking Aramaic.”

  Gerri kept a closer eye on Teddy Sommers than the young man with the knife, watching as the end of his gun quavered. It looked like a .45, probably a Browning, military issue. She’d seen him in the photo’s background, so it was obvious he’d been in the military at the same time as Father Schaefer and Gordon Truman. Bu
t how he was connected to this she couldn’t guess.

  Or, could she?

  “Father Harry spoke Aramaic, didn’t he, Gage?” Cici’s soothing tone helped Gerri calm down, too, and she wondered for the first time if the therapist had the same coercive ability Kinsey claimed to have.

  Hell of a time to find out.

  Gage nodded, knife back at Curtis’s throat. “My choice,” he said. “One the voices couldn’t understand.” He hit his own forehead with the heel of his free hand before wrapping his arm around the boy’s neck, the knife now pressing tight to his flesh. “Worked, too. It worked. Enough I could finally see.”

  “See what, Gage?” Kinsey’s tone was just as soft. “Tell me.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. “They’ll hear.”

  The voices. Great. Just great. Gerri couldn’t believe they were even listening to the ravings of this madman.

  Until Kinsey spoke again. “Tell me,” she said. “In your language.”

  Gage hesitated. Was that fear on Sommers’s face? Fear that grew as the young man began to speak, directly to Kinsey. Gerri’s eyes never left the custodian as her friend leaned closer to Gerri, disgust in her voice when she spoke for the detective’s ears only.

  “Oh my God, Gerri,” she said. “Gage didn’t kill Father Harry.”

  But, Gerri knew that already, could tell from the hideous terror in Teddy Sommers’s expression, the way he vibrated, wavered. She watched him take a half-step toward Gage, finger on the trigger, her own gun training on him.

  “Sommers.” Gerri caught his attention, his eyes flickering to her. “Drop it. Now. Because, if I have to shoot you, I’m going to be very, very unhappy.”

  The custodian’s gun whipped around, focused on the detective while Cici and Father Dante finally had the good sense to scramble out of the way. Gerri turned her body sideways, reducing her surface area, Kinsey stepping behind her without being asked. Sommers shook, looking back and forth between Gage and the detective, fear turning to fury.