Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  "What are you still doing here on the sofa? Are you sick? It's ten and Mrs. Vanderbilt called three times. Do you feel ok? You’ve really overslept."

  "What time is it?" Linda replied. "Why are you so blurry? Oh, my head..."

  Carson put his hand on her head.

  "You don't have a fever. You'd better stay home just in case you're getting something. I'll make you some tea and call Mrs. Vanderbilt," Carson said.

  "Oh, yeah. School...damn," she replied.

  Linda sat up and felt like a thousand drummers were inside of her head. She kept blinking trying to focus. A sliver of fear swam around in her stomach as she still could not focus. Carson went into the kitchen and called Mrs. Vanderbilt, the principal of Linda's school. He hung up the phone, and then put a chromed teapot on the stove. He waited several seconds for the gas to ignite and then he went back to her.

  "You know. You didn't give me a kiss when you came in. Did you forget?" Linda said as he approached her.

  "Oh. I just didn't expect to see you here when I got home," he replied.

  He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips, and then wrapped his arms around her.

  "I missed you and I'm glad you're home," he said. "But I was worried when I saw you."

  "I missed you, too. I wish you didn't have to work all night," she said.

  "Me, too. It'll be over sooner than you think," he said. "What is that you have on? It smells like antiseptic," he said.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "It smells like ether," he replied.

  "Well, I assure you Doctor Carson Hyll, I haven't been hitting the furniture polish while you were away," she said jokingly and put her arms around him a second time.

  They hugged for several minutes, but Carson was still curious about the hospital-like odor.

  "Want to make a baby? Come on, let's go make a baby," Linda said and got up from the couch pulling Carson by his hand.

  When she stood up, she collapsed. Carson quickly caught her and pulled her back onto the sofa.

  "I feel drunk, Carson," she said. "Oh, my head. I feel like I didn't sleep all night."

  "Come on. You're going right to bed. Put your arm around my neck," he told her. "You need to rest."

  "I want to take a shower - that will wake me up. I'll be all right after the shower," Linda protested.

  "Sure. You're going to take a shower, fall and crack your skull open on the tub and then bleed to death while I have breakfast," Carson said. "You're going to bed. Doctor's orders."

  Carson put Linda to bed and turned on the TV in their bedroom.

  "Now you can watch all those silly daytime shows," he said smiling.

  "Yes, doctor."

  Carson brought her tea in a white mug covered with many colored balloons.

  "How come every time you bring me tea you bring in it that cup?" she said smiling. "You like that cup or something?"

  "I just want to remind you what a great person you are," he replied. "Make you feel better."

  He took off his hospital greens and snuggled under the covers next to Linda. He fell asleep within minutes. Linda awoke a couple hours later and tried to salvage the day. She felt a lot better and decided to take a shower.

  "Carson! Carson!"

  Carson jumped out of bed his heart beating like a hummingbird. The sleep in his body washed away like a sandcastle hit by a raging wave. Linda sat on the toilet in tears.

  "What is this!" she said pointing to her inner thigh of her left leg.

  Carson saw three symbols about two inches high on her thigh - a diamond flanked by two inverted C's. The symbol was made with a felt marker.

  "What?" he bent down to get a closer look and then he ran his fingers over the letters.

  "Damn!" he said.

  "I had a nightmare last night that people came in the window in the living room - the one that's hard to close," she said trembling.

  Carson ran down the stairs to the window and drew back the drapes. Linda followed.

  "What's this?" Carson said and picked up the towel off the floor.

  Linda looked on in horror. Carson turned and felt her fear pierce him like a thousand razor blades.

  "Oh, baby. What's the matter?" he said taking her into his arms.

  "I put…put that towel on the window to keep the draft out!" Linda said.

  "Wind probably blew it off. It was gusty last night," he said.

  "It's a pretty heavy towel," Linda said.

  "Wind blew it off," he said.

  The Detective - Chapter 29

  Detective Nick Vancuso was on his way to his home in Little Silver after an all night drug-related stakeout in Asbury Park when he decided to drive through Ocean Village and catch a glimpse of the ocean. He was frustrated, tired, and wished he could jump out of his body because of the constant, dull pain in his joints and muscles, but he figured the ocean air might invigorate him. The stakeout had been a washout - bad information or someone got tipped off. He hated to be unproductive, and especially having to chase leads that went nowhere. He wondered at times how he lasted fifteen years in the police business and had made head detective of a special task force on violent crimes. He was the best detective in the county with the highest number of arrests and convictions and he had the awards to prove it. He was a survivor of New York City.

  "If you could work in New York, you could work anywhere," his chief told him when he was a rookie starting out in the 23rd Precinct. After he had married an Irish girl - Katy McFadden - from his neighborhood in the Bronx, and after the second child was born, the couple decided they wanted to move to the "country." To Nick, the "country" was anywhere outside of the city, where they had grass and trees that covered more than one lot.

  They settled in Woodbridge, a rapidly growing community right off the New Jersey Turnpike. All of their friends said they had moved to a farm. Nick had chosen the location because it was where his car had broken down, and the area was not too much "country," he told his friends. The couple purchased a small two-bedroom house in a newly developed subdivision, and Nick joined the Woodbridge Police Department. They welcomed him warmly since it was rare that they would get someone of Nick's caliber. Nick considered the police department amateurish compared to the sophisticated techniques used in New York City at the time, but the crime rate was considerably lower so it didn't matter. Eventually, he brought those new techniques to the department long before they became commonplace among police departments across the country. He rose to the rank of detective very rapidly because of his expertise and knowledge. He was very happy - recognized as an outstanding professional in his field, a loving husband and a good father. Then one night it all changed. A tractor-trailer driver had fallen asleep and his truck drifted across the center of the highway slamming head on into Katy's car killing her instantly along with his eight-year-old son, Matthew and ten-year-old daughter, Constance. Nick didn't know life could be so cruel. He had seen plenty of life's tragedies on his job - enough for a hundred lifetimes, but this was far worse. A year later, he quit the force, sold his house and moved to Little Silver so he could be near the water. The water seemed to soothe his pain somewhat. He joined the Middletown Police Department as a detective and he worked all the time. Soon his coworkers nicknamed him detect-a-holic.

  "Don't you ever rest?" his commanding officer asked him one night when the shift was over.

  "Crime never rests," Nick replied. "Besides, I don't have much to do at home anyway."

  "There's more to life than this job, Nick. Why don't you come down to the pub with us tonight and have a few?"

  "Thanks. But, I'm afraid there isn't much for me except this job."

  "Nick, you can't go on punishing yourself for Katy's death. You have to go on - live a little," the older, burly man said.

  "I know, but I don't want to. This job is all I need right now," Nick said.

  "Okay, but I think you're missing a lot. Take care and don't stay too late!"

  The police radio in his car sudden
ly came to life and the dispatcher barked out an all-car bulletin about a possible break in and entering.

  Nick glanced at the GPS unit on the dashboard and slammed on his brakes.

  "Jesus! That's right there!" he said to himself. He turned the red Chrysler Crossfire around and pulled up to the address on the GPS display. He didn't fit the sleek, sporty look of the car with his receding hairline and gray tweed sport jacket. He had shed his New York City, stereotypical image of a dumb Italian years ago, who spoke with "da's" and who wore an over abundance of gold chains around his neck and a gold ring on every finger.

  Nick picked up the microphone and told headquarters he was taking the call.

  "You're nuts, Vancuso! Go home and get some sleep. This is a job for a uniformed," Charlie, the dispatcher, gawked back at him.

  "I'm right in front of the house now. I'm taking it. Send a uniformed as a backup," Nick barked back. "Besides it's my way of salvaging a bad night."

  He got out of the car sucked in his aging and slightly protruding gut and walked up to the porch of Linda and Carson's Victorian house. A wave of sadness washed over him - the house reminded him of a life he once had - a life, which seemed like it was hundreds of years ago. A crisp, clean breeze whipped off the ocean, and its coldness bit into his face like an invisible hand that had just slapped him. He rang the doorbell and waited. A few seconds later, a tired man in his mid thirties opened the door.

  "I'm Detective Vancuso," he said holding his wallet badge up to Carson's face.

  Nick suddenly felt a tinge of regret for taking the call - this kind of call was way out of his league. A uniformed, beat cop would normally handle such a call. He had handled many such calls years ago when he first joined the force.

  "Come in," Carson said, opening the door wider. "I’m Carson Hyll." He was too tired to notice that a detective had responded to the call.

  Nick walked in and instantly scanned the surroundings without being obvious, and then he looked at Carson with a questionable look on his face.

  "Come in here," Carson said leading Nick through the long foyer and into the small living room.

  "This is my wife, Linda," Carson said.

  "Glad to meet you," Nick said. He stopped and stared at her. Linda shifted on the chair. Nick continued to stare at the young woman. She could be his wife’s twin.

  "We believe we had intruders here last night. My wife thought she was having a dream, but now we know it wasn't..." Carson said.

  Nick said nothing and continued to stare at Linda.

  "Excuse me, detective!" Carson said. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm sorry. Your wife looks like someone I knew," he said sheepishly. "What did you say?"

  "We think the intruders came in through that window," Carson said pointing to the east window.

  "How do you know?" Nick said cutting him off.

  "The window can’t be locked because it's old. Linda couldn't close it all the way last night and put a towel on the sill to keep a draft out. This morning the towel was on the floor."

  "So? A gust of wind could have blown it off," Nick said. He felt a bit smug since this call was just a routine complaint. This was too easy. Maybe, he should have taken the dispatcher's advice, he thought.

  "We thought of that except when Linda woke up this morning she found something," Carson said.

  Linda pulled the one leg of her shorts up revealing the strange symbol painted on her inner thigh. Nick's eyes widened. He approached her and bent over to get closer look. Linda moved back on her chair and put the shorts down.

  "I'm sorry. I wanted to get a closer look," Nick said.

  "Have you seen this before?" Carson asked.

  "Yeah, I have," Nick said and rolled his eyes slightly. "Can I see it again?"

  Linda slowly pulled up her shorts and revealed the diamond flanked by two inverted Cs. Nick looked at it with renewed interest. Linda watched his changing eyes.

  "What it is?" Linda said alarmed.

  Nick stood up and faced Carson. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, but they were overshadowed by dread. Carson did not notice the change. Nick did not want to look Linda in the eye and say what he had to say, but Linda knew that something was wrong.

  "The symbol is Satanic...from a cult."

  "Oh, God! What does it mean?" Linda screamed.

  "It means...it means that they have designated you as Satan's bride and that you have been chosen to have the Devil's baby," Nick explained his voice cracking and losing volume. He seemed to have a large dust ball in his throat.

  "Oh, no!" Linda screamed and burst into tears.

  Carson went to her.

  "I was afraid of that," Carson said.

  Nick waited for Linda to calm down.

  "I've seen this before...several years ago. What's strange about it is that it's usually a voluntary thing. A girl volunteers to have the Devil's baby and she usually tattoos or paints this symbol on herself. Can I talk to you alone, Mr. Hyll?" Nick said and turned to leave.

  "We can go into the kitchen," Carson said.

  Carson pulled a chair and sat down at the small kitchen table. Nick did the same.

  "Do you know if your wife is involved in such a cult? This kind of thing can go on without the spouse knowing - they are very secretive and very adept at hiding. Does she go out at different times at night?"

  "No. She goes to work, comes home, goes food shopping - nothing out of the ordinary," Carson explained. "Besides, you said the woman usually volunteers for it. Why would she be so petrified about it if she were in a cult? Why would she bring attention to herself if she was trying to hide her membership?"

  "You have a point there, but I wouldn't put it past these bastards to come up with some kind of scheme. They are really clever sons of bitches," Nick explained.

  Carson frowned.

  "You really think so? I know my wife better than anyone. I think you're full of shit," Carson said standing up.

  "Listen. Do you remember the Harmon murder a few years ago in Little Silver?"

  "I didn't live here then," Carson said.

  "Well, it happened on the street next to mine. Good old Bobby Harmon. He was a typical teenager from a typical Catholic family. He went to Catholic school. He cut lawns in the summer and shoveled driveways in the winter for extra cash - an all-American kid, except for one thing. He got involved in a cult. The son of bitches convinced him that he had to kill his parents to reach Satan. This is the ultimate test for Satanism to disown your parents, to relinquish their love, the family and everything that's good. I was one of the first detectives on the scene...I found his mother in the basement...she was lying face down in her own blood and vomit. Her nose had been cut off, her eyes were gouged out and her cheeks carved up. He also stabbed her 28 times in the chest and then smashed her skull in with a hammer. Her hands were also cut off. Then he tried to kill his father with a baseball bat while he was sleeping. Luckily, the father woke up seconds before the fatal blow and moved out of the way. The brutality was enough to make even me sick. We knew that this kid was capable of anything so we organized a manhunt, but we didn't find the kid until the next day. He went into the woods and cut his own throat, all in the name of the Devil. We found all kinds of stuff in his room...books, pamphlets, DVDs. We investigated for about year trying to find the cult and track these sickos down, but found nothing. You still think I'm full of shit - I'll get you the damn police report! I don't know who did this to your wife, but there are two kinds of Satanists - the traditional, who condemn anything illegal and openly worship the Devil in their own churches, and the outlaw Satanists, who form secretive cults and use sex and drugs and everything else to lure teens and whoever else into the group. They usually target teens because they are highly rebellious, and the most destructive. They convince these poor kids to literally do anything," Nick explained. "I'd bet we have one of the outlaw cults involved in this."

  Carson was silent. He stared at the detective in a daze.

  "Now, is there a time
that she could go out and you wouldn't know about it?"

  "Yeah," Carson said meekly. "I'm a doctor and many times I work all night, but if she's a Satanist, I'm Albert Einstein."

  "I'm not convinced your wife is a member of any cult judging by the way she reacted, but I wouldn't put anything past them. Do you have any dealings with them or did you cross one of them in any way?"