Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  "No. I'm a doctor. I work with other doctors and nurses," he said. "What do you take me for?"

  "Listen, everyone is a suspect when it comes to them. Like I said, they are very clever," Nick shot back.

  "So what are you going to do?" Carson said.

  "I'm going to take this case," Nick said rising from his chair. "Don't touch the window. I'll send CSI to dust for prints. After that, fix the window so it locks, and keep the rest of your house locked at all times. I might suggest getting a big dog or an alarm system. And keep your eyes open."

  Carson was silent. They walked to the door.

  "One more thing," Nick said as he stepped onto the front porch. "Try to think about anybody you might have pissed off recently. Satanists come in all shapes and forms and some of them are doctors and nurses."

  The Enigma - Chapter 30

  Helen had asked Stokes to take care of funeral arrangements and to check her husband's car for any possessions. She was too distraught over Henry Graber's fiery death to do it herself. Besides, she had no one else to turn to because Henry's one brother was dead, and the couple’s two daughters were equally upset. Stokes reluctantly accepted knowing in his mind that it would be almost as painful for him as it would be for Helen. He had told Helen he would free up some time and do it as soon as possible.

  It was the following Monday when Stokes drove to a Gulf service station near where Henry had the fatal accident to view the car. Helen had said she did not have the courage to see the car that her husband was killed in - the wake and funeral were hard enough. Stokes pulled up to the run down, dirty station - even the large orange and white sign towering above the roof of the square building looked greasy from lack of cleaning. The front of the building consisted of two large square windows separated by an equally dirty glass door. The inside of the windows had years of nicotine, soot and dirt layered on their surfaces. When one glimpsed through them, it was like looking through a fog.

  Stokes pushed open the door and walked in. An unshaven man wearing soiled blue work pants and a matching blue shirt talked on a grease smudged beige telephone. Why would they have a light-colored phone in a place like this? Why not black or brown so you couldn't see the grease marks? Stokes thought. The man talked with a burning cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. He squinted now and then as the curling smoke touched his eyes and caused them to water. It was strange, Stokes thought. The man knew that the cigarette smoke would burn his eyes, yet he still held onto the cigarette instead of putting it out. The man finished his conversation, hung up the phone, and looked up through red teary eyes at Stokes.

  "I'm here for Henry Graber’s stuff. I was sent by his widow to get his personal items out of his car. It was a Chevy - the one that burned," Stokes said.

  "Oh yeah. It’s in the back. I don't think there's much to get from the looks of it," the man said.

  "Yeah."

  Stokes left the messy office and walked around to the back of the building to a chain link fence. He pushed the gate open and headed towards Henry's car in the back of the yard. When he viewed the violence of the accident - the twisted, rusted metal, the broken glass, the charred and blackened interior - his chest began to heave and he had a hard time holding back the tears. The wrecked car made the reality of Henry's death even more real and believable, and now he knew why this would be too painful for Helen. He walked up to the rear of the car, and pulled up on the paint less trunk. It was stuck. He exerted more force and it popped open. He spotted a metal toolbox, a small flashlight, and a few road flares tucked away in one of the corners. He took the items out and placed them on the ground next to the car. Then he walked over to the driver's side and pulled on the door several times until it opened. He looked around the inside of the car and determined that anything that was here would be either melted or turned to ash. He went back to the trunk for a last look, and noticed the light brown, short hair scattered over a small black rug. Some lay in balled clumps. He determined it was dog hair by its coarse feel and length. It puzzled him because he knew that Henry didn't own a dog. Perhaps, he had bought one that day, but why would he put it in the trunk? Stokes thought. He gathered the few items he had found in the trunk and left. When he arrived at Henry's house, he asked Helen if Henry had a dog or was thinking of purchasing one.

  "Not that I know of. He didn't say he wanted a dog, although a dog would have been nice to keep us company and add some life to this house," she explained.

  "Do you think he would have purchased one without telling you?" Stokes asked.

  "No. Henry wasn't like that. He would always tell me about things like that. He always wanted to include me in anything he did..." she broke off and began to cry.

  "He was a good man and a good friend," Stokes said. "I placed the few items from the car in the garage. I have to get back."

  "Oh, thank you so much Matthew. You are truly a good friend," she said grasping his hand. "I'm so happy you did this for me."

  "It was nothing at all. If you need anything else just call."

  She escorted him out the door, and then stood in the doorway and watched him pull away. He drove back to the hospital with the weight of his grief bearing down. It was hard to believe Henry was gone and the worst part of it was that it was so sudden. If he had contracted an illness and was dying, one could slowly adjust to the fact that he would die one day, and one could prepare for the inevitable. The car accident was a shock and a waste of life because he was a perfectly healthy and functional man. Many deaths were a waste of life, but it just seemed more acceptable when a man died of old age because he had his share of life - he had had his turn. Life was not fair or equitable.

  The dog hairs troubled Stokes like a tiny voice hidden beneath all of his grief. It intrigued him because he didn't understand why he was distressed by it. Why should his mind place so much importance on it - it could have been a neighbor's dog that had jumped into the trunk. It could be anything at all and of no importance, but Stokes' mind lingered on the enigma.

  He arrived at the hospital within minutes and when he entered his office he found a large, white envelope on his desk. He opened it and saw it was the autopsy on Henry Graber. He had a few minutes before the board of trustees meeting so he read it quickly and then called Carson. Carson was sitting in his office at the new lab when he felt a vibrating sensation at his hip. He looked at his cell phone and smiled. He opened the phone and said hello, but there was nothing. He pressed the redial button.

  "Hello, this is Doctor Stokes," the voice said.

  "Hello, doctor, this is Carson. You called me?" Carson said.

  "Oh, yeah, I've got to talk to you, but I can't now. Why don't Linda and you plan on dinner at my house around seven tonight," Stokes said.

  "Okay, I'll call Linda and hopefully she's got nothing planned."

  "Great. I'll see you around seven. Now I have to go," Stokes said and hung up.

  Carson looked at the phone and frowned because he knew that whatever Linda had planned had to be canceled. Stokes voice had a tone of urgency in it and Carson knew this could not be postponed to a later date. He dialed her cell phone hoping she had left it on. She was supposed to turn it off while in class. It rang several times.

  "Hi," he said. "Can you talk?"

  "Well, this is a surprise. Did you call me to ask me out?" Linda said.

  "As a matter of fact I did. I was wondering if you were busy tonight?"

  "Maybe," she said.

  "Well, I would like to ask you out to dinner at Doctor Stokes' house."

  "No, I have to wash my hair and I'll probably have a headache by then."

  "Sure you will. I'll just have to ask someone else, that's all."

  "Do that and I'll break your legs," Linda said laughing.

  "He just called and invited us to dinner. He said he has something important to tell me."

  "Okay, what time?"

  "Seven."

  "Pick me up at 6:45 and don't be late," she said.

  "I'll b
e there."

  "So how's your first day at the lab?"

  "Oh, it's ok. I'm in charge of scheduling shifts, payroll, and quality control. I have to make sure every job that comes in from one of our doctors gets priority over the others. It's a far call from neurology, but I figure it will help us save some money," Carson said. "Besides, after the first year if I don't want to manage it I don't have to."

  "I'm glad you like it," she said.

  "I feel important, too. Like a team player, you know, one of the guys, and especially with Doctor Stokes. He's included me on everything concerning the Hellfire Syndrome. I'm sort of under his wing. It's great."

  "I always knew you were good at what you did. I'm proud of you. I love you, Carson."

  "I love you, too."

  Mary - Chapter 31

  Mary loved when company came to her house. She had never held a job since marrying Matthew and spent all of her time decorating their large, 13-room, restored Victorian mansion. The house was once featured in House and Garden magazine and it was considered a landmark in the town. Mary became an instant celebrity when the article was published and soon every interior decorator in the area had called offering her a job. Others wanted to hire her as a consultant, but she declined them all since she had no interest in decorating other people's homes. Besides, she would have to trek to all of these homes and she had never obtained a driver's license. There was never a need to go anywhere - Matthew took care of everything and Mary was content to arrange, and rearrange the decor of her home, and to try new recipes on her husband. When Matthew began to gain weight she called a nutritionist at the hospital and learned how to make meals low in fat and low in cholesterol. She was fully devoted to her husband. She loved to cook and impress visitors with her gourmet delicacies.

  Suddenly, several lights in the house began to blink. Mary rushed into the kitchen. On a tiny shelf next to the phone was an Apple laptop computer. She pressed the return key and the screen lit up. And Instant Message screen appeared with Stokes headshot in the left hand corner. She watched it like an excited child.

  "Hi, Mary, I've invited Doctor Carson Hyll and his wife, Linda, for dinner tonight. They will arrive around seven. Is that ok with you?"

  Mary's eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. She typed back,

  "Wonderful. I love you."

  Stokes typed,

  "I love you, too. I will be home at six. Bye."

  The news brightened Mary's day. This was her chance to shine and she loved it. She instantly planned to bake an apple pie and make Chicken Vienna from a recipe she obtained from an international cookbook she had borrowed from the local library. She would bring out the best china and the best silverware, and there would be long white tapered candles rising up from antique silver holders in the middle of the table. Luckily, she and Matthew had done the week's shopping the day before so there was plenty of fresh food in the house.

  * * *

  Carson and Linda arrived a few minutes after seven and were greeted at the door by Stokes. Stokes brought them into the kitchen to meet Mary. She was washing a few pots at the sink and Stokes tapped her on shoulder. She turned and instantly beamed a smile to Carson and Linda. Her grandmotherly ambience instantly warmed the room.

  "This is my beloved Mary," Stokes said and then he began moving his fingers in sign language to introduce Carson and Linda.

  Mary moved forward, grabbed Linda's hand with both hands, and shook them. Then she did the same to Carson smiling the whole time.

  "Let me help. What can I do?" Linda asked.

  "Nothing," Mary replied in the unique pronunciation indicative of people who learned how to speak without ever hearing the spoken language. "Go. Sit. Relax. Everything is done."

  Stokes led them into the study, a dark mahogany paneled room with a wall of books on one side. Carson and Linda sat in a burgundy-leathered loveseat across from Stokes' matching lounge chair.

  Carson felt a bit closer to Stokes when he entered the room because he had always felt that the inside of a person's house was a window into their mind, their personality, their attitudes, their entire being. It was the ultimate personal statement about a person. One saw the workings of one's mind inside a person's home. If they were neat and orderly, you knew they were organized, efficient and ambitious. If the home was untidy, but clean, you knew that person was more creative than most and dwelled on higher issues in life rather than putting things in their rightful places. If the home was dirty and unkempt, then that person was lazy and had low self-esteem. If a person's house was not in order, how could their lives be in order? Carson knew it was a broad generalization and didn't apply to everyone, but the generalizations served as a starting point for reading people. One would usually find a mix of all the generalizations in most people - a strange balance.

  "Can I get you something to drink," Stokes offered.

  "No, thanks," Linda said.

  "I'll have a beer," Carson said.

  Stokes left and returned with two beer glasses filled with the golden, bubbly liquid.

  "So what's going on?" Carson asked taking a sip from the tall, tapered glass.

  "Complications..." Stokes said looking at Carson and frowning.

  "Your house is lovely," Linda added.

  "Thank you. We are comfortable here."

  Within a few minutes, Mary came in and motioned that dinner was ready. The dining room had a warm green glow from the ornate wallpaper, oak chair rails and brass and crystal chandelier. The chairs were original Chippendales with a matching mahogany table large enough to seat eight. A white linen tablecloth covered the table and the place settings were formal with an array of gold flatware and cloth napkins. Mary placed a large platter with the Chicken Vienna on the table along with a bowl of brown rice and another platter of corn on the cob glistening with melted butter.

  "Wow, this is fantastic!" Carson said.

  "Very lovely. Do you need help, Mary?" Linda asked.

  Mary shook her head and motioned for them to sit.

  "Mary grew the corn herself in our garden," Stokes added.

  "That’s wonderful," Linda said.

  "Fresh corn on the cob; I haven’t had it in years," Carson said.

  Linda gave him a look.

  After dinner, Stokes and Carson went into study with snifters of cognac and Linda helped Mary clear off the table, and make coffee.

  "So what is this new complication?" Carson asked while settling into a leather recliner.

  "Henry Graber was not killed in a car accident," Stokes said after taking a sip. "An animal of some sort ripped his throat open. There was hardly any blood left in the body and the burnt remains indicated that the flesh had been torn. The medical examiner ruled it might have been caused by glass from the windshield or some other projectile. I think it was a dog."

  "A dog?" Carson nearly shouted.

  Stokes gestured in a downward motion with his hand telling Carson to lower his voice.

  "I found hair in the trunk and had it analyzed. It belonged to a Doberman Pinscher and a German Shepherd," Stokes said softly.

  "What would he be doing with dogs?"

  "I don't know."

  Carson looked around the room. Stokes noticed a sudden sparkle in his eye.

  "Speaking of dogs...that reminds me...did you ever find out who put the dead dogs in the incinerator bins?" Carson said.

  Both froze instantly and their eyes locked. They stared at each other in disbelief.

  "I don't believe it!"

  "What kind of car did Graber have?" Carson asked.

  "A black Chevy."

  "It had to be him!" Carson said. "It all fits."

  "What would Henry be doing with a couple of dead dogs?"

  Carson looked away. He knew what he had to say, but he wasn't sure how to say it. The revelation was turning into a nightmare. He took a deep breath.

  "Satanism. Those dogs' throats were cut clean," Carson explained. "Nobody kills a dog that way, not the pounds, not the v
ets, no one. Only the cults do it that way. They use the dogs as sacrifices to the devil. They cut their throats so they can get the blood quickly and sip it while it's still warm. They sacrifice the dogs in pairs."

  "You're making me sick!" Stokes said putting his snifter down on the cherry wood end table next to his chair. "How do you know about this anyway?"

  "I'm from New Hampshire, remember?" he said. "Cults in New England are as common as lobsters in Maine. Many are harmless, but this one isn't because once they graduate from dogs, they go after humans. I had suspected that it might be a Satanist cult, but I wasn't sure until now."