Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  She moved onto the fourth step and its protests seemed as loud as a 20-piece band playing downstairs in the parlor. After the initial shock of the sound, she moved quickly down the stairs and headed for the light switch that would turn on the Victorian-styled room lamps. She reached the switch and pushed it up. The lamps lit as usual. The wind from the storm whipped the delicate curtains that she had just put up last week on the window behind the sofa. A loud and long peal of thunder shook the house and she thought it would never stop. She walked closer to the window, but then stopped to avoid stepping on the shards of glass that lay scattered on the floor. She moved closer and stopped again. Her bare foot had touched a wet spot on the rug that could not have been soaked by the rain that was being blown in by the wind. Or could it?

  She slowly turned and moved towards the stairs and took each step cautiously looking in every direction like a cat on the prowl. The kitchen was dark so she ruled out using the phone there. Once I get back to the bedroom, I’ll be safer, she thought. She moved quickly up the stairs, taking long strides to skip steps to avoid the noisy ones. When she reached her room, she closed the door and locked it, then sat on the bed and picked up the cordless telephone. The room seemed different as she dialed 911 with a bit of relief, not paying much attention to her instincts. If there was someone in the house, the police would flush him out, she thought. Her thoughts and energy focused on calling 911.

  She opened a small drawer in the night table and reached in for a tiny canister of mace that Carson had bought her when they had moved in since she was afraid of guns. She got up and headed towards the closet door to get a pair of slippers but when she put her hand on the glass doorknob, she stopped. The door, the door, the DOOR WAS OPEN! screamed in her head! The door suddenly exploded forward, hitting her in the face and knocking her onto the bed. The telephone bounced and tumbled on the rug and landed under the night table. She also dropped the mace canister. Linda found herself pinned on her bed with a figure dressed in army fatigues and a black ski mask over his face. He pushed his hand over her face. His hand had something in it, something soft that smelled medicinal like rubbing alcohol. She lifted her arm and slammed her fist into his face, and felt the pressure on his hand release momentarily. She screamed and the piercing sound seemed to pull the man out of his temporary daze and he pushed his hand harder against her face. She thrust her hands forward, grabbed the man's throat, and immediately tightened her grip around his neck, squeezing, squeezing...then she felt his powerful grip on her wrists and her hands were pulled away. She felt something entangle her hand then disappear. He thrust her hand down hard on the bed, but she pulled her hand free thanks to the hand cream she had put on earlier. She reached over for the China rose lamp and managed to get her hand around the narrow base. She mustered all her strength to lift the lamp and slammed the glass shade into the man's head. She watched in slow motion, as the hand-painted crimson roses broke apart and splintered into several white and red shards of glass. A small shard with one of the leaves still intact moved down the man's cheek slicing the skin like a surgeon's scalpel. She brought her arm back again and moved her fist towards his face again, but when she slammed it into his face, it was like thrusting her hand into a giant marshmallow. The marshmallow head slowly faded into darkness and she could no longer feel her arm. She could no longer feel anything. The man, the room, all of her surroundings slowly faded into blackness that seeped into the room.

  * * *

  The call from Linda's cordless telephone was routed to the Allenwood State Police Barracks in nearby Wall Township since Ocean Village did not have its own police force and contracted the state police for protection. The call went to the state police computer and the number was entered into the database. The computer did an instant search taking a little more than three nanoseconds. Dr. and Mrs. Carson Hyll and their address flashed on the screen in front of 911 dispatcher Denise Middleton. Denise listened closely on her headset. She looked over to the snapshot of her two redheaded boys at camp hanging next to the display and then pushed a button on her console and spoke into a tiny microphone attached to her headset.

  "I think we got something here. There was a scream, but no one is talking now. I can hear scuffling. We need to send a car out," she said.

  "Maybe, it's a kid playing with the phone," overweight dispatcher Todd Jacobs said.

  Denise’s face went cold. She pushed another button and spoke again.

  "We have a possible break in or a family dispute at fifty six Cherry Blossom Boulevard in Ocean Village. Send a car immediately."

  * * *

  Linda awoke with a pain in her head so severe that she thought there was a large weight on her head. Her mind was foggy and thoughts streamed in fragments - the broken window, the closet door bursting open, the man in the green fatigues. The China rose lamp...oh it can't be broken, she thought.

  The room was without traces of light anywhere. She thought this was odd. Even the streetlights outside her home would cast a faint silver of light into the bedroom windows. She could at least see the windows framed in this pale light. She reached over to turn on her Victorian lamp next to her bed and her fingers touched something that felt like many tiny sticks. It made a dry rustling sound like paper. She moved her hand around wildly like a fish out of water feeling the area around her. The entire area was covered with the dry, stick-like substance. She felt a rough blanket that smelled of mildew beneath her. Under the blanket, the floor was hard and rough and felt like wood.

  She sat up and her head spun out of control. Tiny white stars swirled in front of her eyes. She laid back and took several deep breaths. Her stomach was about to erupt when she heard a sound. What was that! She thought feeling the fear quickly seep through her body. The sound had an animal quality to it and she began to sweat. Seconds later, the sound came out of the darkness again - a low moan of pain and fear. She backed away from the sound, but her movement created the rustling sound again. She stopped out of fear that the animal would find her in the darkness and attack. The voice moaned again.

  Linda stared into the darkness hoping her eyes would adjust and she would be able to see something, anything. She was still sweating, but not as much. She stared at the darkness for several minutes, letting her fear escape and her thoughts take over. Slowly, she began to think again - her thoughts were clearer now. Slowly she took a deep breath.

  "Hello."

  There was silence for several seconds.

  "Hello. Is anyone there?" she said louder.

  Nothing. Then she could hear breathing, short and shallow, but it was breathing!

  "Who are you?" she said.

  There was a garbled sound at first like someone trying to talk with a throat full of mucus.

  "Help...me...help..." the voice said.

  It was a low, very faint voice. Linda slowly moved toward the cry, crawling on all fours like a cautious animal. "Help...me," the voice was raspy and strained. Linda stopped and used her hands to feel in front of her. She did this several times, moving toward the sound, until her hand touched something warm and slightly hairy. She moved her fingers along the length of the object. It was an arm. She moved closer and moved her hand along the arm's length until she found a hand. It was a large hand with a slight hardness on the palm and inside of the fingers. She picked up the hand and then slowly lowered it to the floor. She felt along the man's arm to his shoulder and found his face. She touched his cheek; it was rough from the stubble of a beard several days old. She leaned over him and whispered near his head, "Where are we?"

  "I don't know," the raspy voice said in a strained whisper.

  "What's your name?"

  "Nick."

  The Cross of Nero - Chapter 42

  Carson sat down for the first time in eight hours. He dropped into a dark brown stuffed chair in the doctor's lounge on the first floor of the hospital. It was his first 45-minute break. This was his week for the all nighters, and he didn't mind because he knew it would soon be just a mere memo
ry. Three more months and he would be off the hook - no more all night duty unless it was an emergency. He let out a breath of relief at the thought and then fell into a deep, restful sleep.

  Carson awoke slowly to a vibration at his hip. He wasn't sure now if his beeper went off or not. He rubbed his eyes trying to hurry them to focus, and then glanced down at the beeper. A tiny triangle blinked on the LCD screen. He pressed a tiny button next to the screen and his home telephone number flashed on the tiny screen. He looked at his watch. It was 4:15 a.m. He quickly went to the phone on the wall and pressed "9" to get an outside line. When he heard the second dial tone, he dialed his home number.

  "Detective Vandergarde," the voice said.

  "Who?" Carson asked.

  "Vandergarde here," the voice said.

  "I'm sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number..." Carson replied his head still swimming in sleep.

  "Doctor Hyll?"

  "Yeah. How did you know my name?"

  "I'm at your house now and I think you better come home right away."

  "Is Linda ok?" Carson yelled into the phone.

  "We don't know. You'd better come now," Vandergarde said.

  "Is she there? Let me talk to her. Is she hurt?"

  "Missing, we think. You'd better get here as fast as you can. I'll explain everything when you get here."

  Carson slammed the receiver back into its holder and rushed out of the lounge. The phone bounced off the holder and swayed back and forth like a pendulum. As he rushed past the nearest nursing station, he told the nurse he had an emergency at home.

  Carson pulled up and it looked like a late night party with every light on in the house. Several police cars were parked in front along with several more unmarked cars. He rushed up his porch and entered. Two men dressed in suits stood in the living room, while several uniformed officers moved through the house like they were old friends over to see the new house. The uniformed police dusted for fingerprints and looked around.

  "What happened? Where's Linda?" Carson said frantically.

  "I'm Jerry Vandergarde. I spoke to you on the phone," said the tall, blonde man as he approached Carson.

  "What's going on?" Carson asked.

  "We're not sure. We got a 911 call from here and then nothing. The call was connected, but no one spoke. When we arrived, the front door was open and a window over there was broken. We're checking with neighbors to see if they saw anything," Vandergarde explained. "Looks like a break-in, but we're not sure."

  Carson rushed past Vandergarde into his bedroom. Several detectives and crime scene investigators were examining the room. He rushed out, went back downstairs, and approached Vandergarde.

  "Would your wife go out around 3 a.m. for any reason? Visit a friend?"

  "No. Nobody! She would call me if she went out. She was leery about going out at night since the first break in."

  "That’s why we responded," Vandergarde said. "We knew about the first break in. So far it looks like we have to treat this as a missing person unless we find evidence to prove otherwise."

  "Don't bullshit me!" Carson yelled.

  Vandergarde raised his eyes.

  "Why would all these cops be here? Tell me what's going on or do I have to talk to your boss!"

  "Listen, asshole!" Vandergarde replied pressing his face close to Carson's. "I don't have to tell you a fucking thing! You can call the governor! I don't have to tell you anything! I'm conducting an investigation and right now you are my number one suspect!"

  Carson looked away and his face flushed red.

  "Okay," he said clenching his fist. "Would you mind filling me in? I'm telling you that she has no reason to go out at this hour. Even if she were sick or dying, she would call 911 before driving herself to a hospital. She would call me first. I’m a doctor!"

  "Okay. We're checking the hospitals now for that possibility," the detective said. "If you would come out to my car, I'll fill you in on what we have so far."

  Vandergarde led the way to his black GMC truck parked in front of the house.

  "We had a hellva time trying to get in here. The gate guard wouldn't let us in until a uniformed pulled up. You got good security here," Vandergarde said.

  "It's ok, I guess. Keeps the cars out after eleven, but not the people," Carson replied.

  The two men got into the truck.

  "What I am about to tell you stays in this car. Okay?"

  Carson nodded.

  "I'm Nick Vancuso's partner," Vandergarde said. "All those calls you’ve been leaving for Nick, I've been getting. Nick is what we call in the force a ghost buster - a detective who becomes an expert on crimes related to the occult and Satanism and anything else that is weird or out of the ordinary. Personally, I didn't believe any of that shit until Nick disappeared two days ago, and I was given his files."

  "He disappeared?" Carson said.

  "Yeah, I didn't even know Nick was a ghost buster. Until a few years ago, any crime related to Satanism was kept under raps, because we didn't want everyone panicked, but mainly because you lose credibility with most judges when you mention occult stuff, and you end up losing most of the time. Plus the damn newspapers play it up to high heaven," Vandergarde explained. "Excuse the pun."

  "So Nick and my wife may have been kidnapped by Satanists?" Carson asked incredulously.

  "I'm not saying anything, but it is a possibility."

  "Oh come on! What kind of shit is this?" Carson said. "Why would they want to kidnap Nick or my wife?"

  "Listen. It is a possibility until proven otherwise. We have reason to believe, it may be such a group. Why Nick? He was getting too close to them, making them uncomfortable, so they would go after him."

  "He's dead?" Carson said.

  "It's a possibility. A veteran detective just doesn't disappear for a few days and not tell anyone, especially Nick. He was one of the best."

  "What about Linda? Is she dead, too?" Carson asked his voice trailing off to a whisper and his eyes welling up.

  "Not yet," Vandergarde said.

  Carson looked at him intensely.

  "How do you know?"

  "Nick reported that your wife had been marked with a funny symbol, a symbol that marked her the bride of Satan."

  "A diamond flanked by two inverted C's. They painted it on her with nail polish," Carson said.

  "Well, she's a special person to them and they won't kill her because she's supposed to have the Devil's son," Vandergarde explained. "This was all in Nick's notes."

  "That's what Nick said and I'm still having problems believing all this. I think it's just some crazy maniac out there who kidnapped my wife. This is just a bunch of crazy shit!"

  "I thought so, too," Vandegarde said. "Until I read Nick’s files."

  "What's the motive? Why would they pick Linda?" Carson asked.

  "They just don't pick anyone. There’s a motive. You or your wife is a target. Have you ever crossed anyone connected with them? Anyone at the hospital?"

  "How am I supposed to know that?” Carson said. "They don't wear name tags."

  Vandergarde reached in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small pad. He turned on the overhead light and then flipped several pages.

  "How about a nurse named Janice Doherty? Ring any bells?"

  Carson stared hard at the detective and Vandergarde watched him closely.

  "She worked with Doctor Graber, but I never worked with her, never met her."

  "But she knows of you?"

  "It's a small hospital."

  Carson looked out of the window at the large oak tree near his house.

  "Is she one of them?" he asked.

  "We don't know, but Nick spoke with her and then he disappeared."

  "I don't know. I just don't know," Carson said. "I'm having a hard time with all of this."

  He pressed his fingers into his eyes and rubbed them.

  "Maybe, I'll get a ransom note or something like that."

  "I wouldn't count o
n it," Vandergarde said. "They don’t want money."

  Carson looked up at the detective.

  "So what do I do now?"

  "We'll put out a missing person's report. You'll have to come to the station to sign it. Do you have a recent photo of your wife? We'll give it to the media."

  "Sure," Carson said and opened the car door.

  They went into the house and Carson went upstairs to the bedroom to get a photo of Linda. Vandergarde stayed downstairs in the living room. Carson noticed her things on the vanity - uniquely shaped bottles of perfume, the gold-plated jewelry box from Paris, two hairbrushes filled with strands of her brown hair - objects that defined her life. He stopped at the photo of them taken in Bermuda on their honeymoon. Carson had set the camera on a small tripod and put the camera on self-timer. He hurriedly joined Linda sitting on a large rock that was part of the jetty. The camera clicked just as a wave splashed white water up behind them – a perfect shot. Carson could still hear the waves hitting the jetty. His eyes began to water and tears rolled down his narrow cheeks falling into the rug below. His chest heaved and he burst out crying. After a few seconds, Carson reached over and picked up the photo. He looked at it again and a new wave moved up from his bowels into his throat. He held the photo against his chest and cried again. He unconsciously dropped the photo and it bounced slightly on the rug and partially slid under the vanity. He bent down to pick it up and saw a silver chain with a pendant attached lying under the vanity. He moved his hand under and picked it up. The thick silver chain was broken and the pendant was about the size of a quarter and in the shape of a peace symbol. Carson stared at the jewelry for several minutes, turning it over, examining it, and looking for any clues that could explain what had happened to Linda. Then he put the pendant in his pocket and headed downstairs.