Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  "Thank you."

  Nick took the nearest elevator up to the second floor and walked down a long corridor before he reached the nursing station. He spoke with Nurse Silberg and she told him that Nurse Doherty had just finished her shift and had left. Nick walked back to the elevator. He pushed the down button and waited. A few moments later, a nurse walked towards the elevator. When she approached, Nick looked at her nametag pinned below her blouse collar.

  "Are you Janice Doherty?" Nick asked.

  "That's what it says here," she replied, pointing to her badge.

  Her face was tired and gray.

  "I was wondering if I can talk with you a moment? I'm Detective Nick Vancuso of the Middletown Police. I just have a few questions," he said.

  Her face soured immediately and Nick noticed.

  "Well, yeah, okay, but I have to get home," she said.

  The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

  "Thanks. I only have a few questions. Did you know Doctor Henry Graber?" Nick said and pushed the button labeled "L1."

  "Oh, yeah, he was a fine man. We worked together. It was terrible the way he went," she said.

  "Have you heard about any doctors or nurses belonging to a Satanist cult?"

  She looked at him and Nick saw a tinge of nervousness flash through her eyes.

  "No, but there was another detective asking about that, too," she said calmly. "Is there a cult here at the hospital? That would be awful."

  "Not that we know of," Nick replied watching her as if she was prey. "You're not involved in a cult, are you?"

  "Me? The whole idea repulses me. I'm a nurse. I'm here to help people, not wish evil on them or glorify death. I see enough death and suffering here to last ten lifetimes," she explained.

  The elevator stopped and the letter "L" above the door lit up. The doors opened.

  "Well, you've been very helpful Miss Doherty. Thank you."

  She walked out ahead of Nick, and turned left towards a corridor that led to the rear of the hospital where the employees parked. Nick walked towards the front entrance, but when she turned a corner, he headed back towards the rear entrance. He walked down the corridor to the double glass doors that led to the parking lot. He watched her get into a dark gray BMW. He rushed up to the doors and read the number on the rear license plate. He went back to his car and called headquarters.

  "Hello Sam. This is Vancuso. Patch me to Irene in DMV," he said.

  "Sure." Nick waited a few seconds for the connection then heard the low melodic voice of Irene, one of the DMV information specialists.

  "Hello, DMV," she said.

  "Hi, Irene, this is Nick Vancuso. I need an ID on this number.

  Tango, Romeo, November, five, four, one, eight."

  "One second."

  Nick watched a middle-aged woman help a bony elderly man into the passenger side of a blue Ford.

  "The car is registered to Janice Doherty, 784 Old Creek Road, Neptune. It's off Sandy Point Road out in the boondocks," Irene explained.

  "Thanks. I owe you one," Nick said.

  "You owe me everything," she replied. "When are you gonna let me cook dinner for you?"

  "I gotta go."

  "Bye."

  Nick drove to the address and was disappointed because the road was wooded on both sides for about a half of a mile in each direction. He couldn't park and stake out the house without being seen. The long dirt driveway disappeared into the woods, so he couldn't tell if she were home because he couldn't see the car. He knew he would have to come back after dark.

  Nick drove to the Drunken Pelican, a local bar and grill that served the best cheeseburgers in the county. Nick often had lunch and dinner there. He pulled into the white gravel parking lot and suddenly he relaxed. He walked the long wood-planked walkway as he had many times before memories of better times flooding into his consciousness - memories of Friday nights there with his wife. When he opened the heavy wooden door made of several ships’ hatch covers it creaked like a door in a haunted house. Inside, the air smelled of cigarette smoke, beer, and perfume. The bar was dark except for small, wall lamps that illuminated each table. A few people filled the nightspot, where a local band would play on weekends. Nick made his way towards a booth on the side of the bar, where he had line sight of the door and where he could catch the bar conversations if he wanted to listen in on other people's problems. The conversations were easily captured from the bar by the upside down dingy hanging from the ceiling that clearly amplified the sound and channeled it into Nick's booth. He always sat there and the waitresses began calling it Nick's booth. Nick ordered his usual, a cheeseburger with tomatoes, lettuce and a tangy house dressing with a hint of barbeque and smoked cheese. Nick was content occasionally glancing at the door and out the window to view the boats sailing by on the Red River. The waitress brought his cheeseburger after several minutes and Nick took his first bite of enjoyment that day. Then the door creaked and as it slowly opened Nick's eyes widened. He immediately turned towards the wall pretending to read the tent card next to the buoy shaped salt and pepper shakers.

  The Conversation - Chapter 37

  Nurse Janice Dotherty was dressed in blue jeans and a white loose-fitting blouse that hid her small breasts as she pushed the heavy wooden door open and entered the Drunken Pelican. Feeling confident and at peace with herself, she had tied back her hair into a braded ponytail that extended to the top of her butt, and she wore makeup - something she rarely used. The thin nurse walked to the bar and took a seat. Nick saw her walk in and quickly moved to the other side of his booth with his back to the bar so she wouldn't spot him. He stopped eating so he could hear her talking.

  "Kyle come in yet?" she asked the burly bartender.

  "Due in a few minutes, and I hope he's on time. Steve wants to leave early," he said. "Want a beer?"

  "Sure."

  Nick took a few more bites of his cheeseburger, a thick juicy affair on a hard roll with poppy seeds, tomato and a special house dressing. He couldn't believe the luck he was having today. It was like hitting a home run after a season of no hitters. Nick took another bite of the sandwich. It was the best he had ever had. He was thoroughly enjoying it when the door creaked open again. A tall young man with long brown stringy hair entered. His hair was parted in the middle and reached his shoulders. Nick could barely see him in his black t-shirt, jeans and black boots. He walked towards the end of the bar where the nurse was sitting.

  "Kyle. Hi!" the nurse said. "I was waiting for you." Her voice was sensual.

  "Hi." he said. "Nice to see you, too."

  "I was wondering if I can come to your place tonight? I'd like to talk to you about the meeting at the coven stead. I have a lot of things I want to talk about and I'll make it worth your while."

  "Yeah, sure, okay," he said.

  Kyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a single-ringed key chain with six keys on it. He located a tarnished brass key with a round head and peeled it off.

  "Here's the key. What’s a coven stead?"

  "It’s the place where we meet, silly," her wide mouth smiling and her eyes beaming.

  "Oh. Sounds like something out of a western."

  "You’re so silly," she said and kissed him on the cheek.

  Nick perked up when he heard Doherty say "coven stead" the cult's meeting place and home base. He knew she had lied to him in the elevator earlier. Now, he had another possible link - Kyle the bartender. Doherty had a second beer and stayed another hour talking with the bartender and Kyle. Nick ordered two more beers and slowly consumed the brew waiting for the nurse to leave. He could not let her see him for she would surely recognize him and suspect that he was following her. He didn't mind waiting - he was enjoying his small victories, the atmosphere of his favorite bar, and the beers he consumed that were making the night so pleasant.

  The bar began to fill up and the noise level escalated. Nick could no longer hear them talking at the bar. He was just about to order another be
er when he saw the long ponytail of the nurse walking towards the door. Nick began to move out of the booth, and then stopped. The nurse turned around and waved to Kyle with a big, bright smile. When the door closed, Nick counted to ten slowly and left. He moved quickly since the day was almost gone and she would not recognize him in the gray light of the approaching night. He walked quickly to his car, keeping his eye on her gray BMW as she pulled out of the parking lot. He was as stealthy as a cat. He followed the BMW to Anchorage Apartments, a short distance from the Drunken Pelican. She parked behind building 2950 next to a row of garages. Nick moved quickly - he parked the car and ran towards the front of the building, but she had vanished. He stopped there. If he went inside and started looking around, she could pop out anytime and see him. He knew the night was too good to be true, but nothing was lost. He had the name of the apartments and the building number. Besides, the beers had made him feel lazy and he really wanted to go home. He decided to leave and come back in the morning.

  * * *

  Nick had a slight headache when he arrived at the superintendent's apartment in the late afternoon. He had worked most of the day on other cases that needed his attention and now he was feeling a lull in his energy. He rang the bell and waited. The door opened and a short, older man wearing blue coveralls appeared. His gray hair and wrinkled face suggested he was not fit for the job.

  "Hello, are you the superintendent?" Nick said.

  "Yeah."

  "I'm Detective Nick Vancuso of the Middletown Police and I need to know if you have a man named Kyle living in building 2950."

  "I don't know. You'll have to talk to the secretary. She can look it up for you," the man replied. "What's this for? He do something wrong?"

  The man opened the door wider to let Nick enter.

  "I just want to talk to him," Nick said and walked into the apartment.

  The living room contained a desk against one wall, filing cabinets and a long table covered with small piles of papers. A tall, pretty girl with her hair styled in a pageboy worked on a computer at the desk.

  "Hello, can I help you?" she said, looking up from the computer.

  "I'm Detective Nick Vancuso of the Middletown Police. Do you have a man named Kyle living in building 2950."

  "That would be easy enough," she said and her fingers began to move on the computer keyboard.

  "Here he is."

  "May I?" Nick asked.

  "Sure."

  Nick walked around the desk so he could see the computer screen. He took out a tiny pad and a thin gold pen.

  "Here," the girl said pointing to Kyle's name and address.

  Nick copied the information in his pad.

  "Thanks. You've been helpful," Nick said.

  "Working on a big case?" she asked, her green eyes sparkling.

  "No. Just routine stuff," Nick said and left.

  Nick parked in the back of the building hoping that if Kyle was going to make a run for it his car would be back there. Nick walked around to the front and entered through a double door entrance. Overhead fluorescent lights illuminated the long carpeted hallway. The tacky rug was black with large orange octagons that connected each other. It should have been retired years ago, Nick thought. He found 295C and rang the doorbell. He waited a few moments listening for sounds inside, and then knocked on the door. No one answered.

  "Kyle Mabus?" Nick said. There was no response. Nick went to the door across the dark hallway, raised his fist to knock, and then stopped. He decided to leave. Outside, he felt someone was watching him as he walked back to his car. He pulled away, turned left out of the parking lot and parked nearby. Then he ran back to the apartment building, hid behind a row of bushes, and watched the entrance. After an hour, Nick was tired and went back to his office. There, he gathered his briefcase and then informed the dispatcher he was going home.

  Nick fired up his Crossfire and pulled out of the parking lot in the rear. He turned left and headed towards Ocean Village. He decided to avoid the traffic and turned off onto a small one-lane county road that went in the same direction. The road was empty as the day succumbed to darkness. The faint lights of far-away houses occasionally peeked through the dense trees that lined the road. Nick liked this road because of its hills and tight curves - he really liked to see how fast he could negotiate the turns. He was a kid again, who had just received his driver's license when he drove on this road. He approached a downhill straightaway that curved sharply at the bottom. He pushed the accelerator down and the car shot away like a rocket. This was his favorite stretch of the road. He would brake hard near the bottom to make the curve because he wanted to beat his last record of 40 miles per hour. He waited until he was a few hundred feet from the curve before he lifted his foot off the accelerator and placed it lightly on the brake pedal. He turned carefully as he approached the curve, glancing at the speedometer occasionally. Suddenly, the car slipped and moved sideways instead of following the road. The tires screamed as they tried to grip the road, but the loose sand was no match for them. Nick instinctively turned the wheel in the direction of the skid and pressed lightly on the brake, but he didn't have the room to let the car move any further off the road because it was so narrow. He had only one choice - he turned the wheel sharply in the opposite direction and slammed on the brake, hoping the car would spin completely around and stop facing the opposite direction. The car spun around, but not all the way. The driver's side rear slammed into the trunk of a small tree causing the car to ricochet off the tree and head straight into a large oak. Nick kept his foot hard on the brake and gripped the steering wheel with all of his strength.

  "Ah, shit! Shit!" he managed to get out as he watched the hood of the car crumple in slow motion and the large tree trunk loom up and swallow him.

  A few minutes later a white pickup truck that had seen too many miles and too many seasons pulled over - its lights focused on the back of the damaged Crossfire. Two men got out and walked over to the driver's side.

  "Well is he alive or dead?" the one with the shaved head said.

  "I don't know. You know how to check his breathing or something like that," the other replied putting his hands in the front pockets of his worn and faded blue jeans.

  "Look dummy, you take two fingers and you put them on the side of his neck and you feel for a pulse, a heartbeat. Now do it! We got to get out of here before someone comes," the man with the shaved head said.

  "Okay, okay, I'm doing it."

  "Well, do you feel anything?"

  "Yeah, I guess," the other man said looking stupefied.

  "Look out, idiot, I'll do it."

  The man with the shaved head placed his two fingers on Nick's neck and turned to the other man.

  "See that's how you do it. Now let's get him into the truck," the man said.

  The two men struggled to open Nick's door, which was hard to open because the front fender was pushed against the door. After several tries the door popped open with a sound of metal scraping on metal.

  "He really fucked up this car," the man with the blue jeans said. "Too bad it was a nice car."

  "Yeah, this was a stroke of luck for us. I don't know how we would've gotten him," the other man replied.

  They dragged Nick out of the car and towards the old white pickup truck struggling with his weight and bulk.

  "Sure is a heavy son-of-a-bitch!" the man with the shaved head said between gasps.

  "Yeah."

  The men struggled to lift Nick's limp body onto the truck bed. A gash on Nick’s forehead gushed blood down his face. Some of it had turned dark and dried. They covered him with a canvas tarp and closed the tailgate. The man with the shaved head took a red gasoline can from the rear of the truck and poured it under the car near the gas tank. Then he poured a trail towards the truck about twenty feet long. He also took the gas cap off of the Crossfire. He put the gas can back in the truck and got in the passenger's side.

  "Now, when I say go, you GO!" he said. The man took a book of ma
tches out of the glove compartment and lit the entire book. Then he dropped the matches on the gasoline trail.

  "GO! GO! GO!" he yelled.

  The matches ignited the gasoline and the flames flashed like lightening towards the wrecked car. The truck sped off like a bullet vanishing into the encroaching darkness.

  The Crash - Chapter 38

  Owen Sutton was intensely involved in Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, a bestseller about dinosaurs that are cloned and recreated for an amusement park, when an explosion rocked his house. He dropped the book and shuddered - he instantly thought a Tyrannosaurus Rex had kicked its way into the front of his house, destroying everything in its path. He didn't know if he should hide under the bed or run out. Finally, he summoned enough courage to run out and confront the beast. He stopped dumbfounded when the house was intact.