The Church

by Wisdom King

  “Hey! You one of the boys again?” A short, balding man emerged from a small room by the foot of the stairs. He was wearing a dirty muscle shirt that highlighted the prominent curve of his beer belly. His thin beard covered a small, greasy mouth that snarled at Kane. He raised a thick brow as he observed the black man standing by the doorway.

  “Excuse me?” Kane asked, confused at the landlord’s query.

  “I said, are you one of them boys again, dawg?” He said, clearly taunting Kane as he placed his flabby arms against his waist. Watching him with dark, angry eyes, Kane suddenly felt the need to break the man’s neck. He knows who Kane was yet every single time he walks in the door, he always had something to say about him. His condescending demeanour never failed to find its way to Kane’s nerves.

  “Your insults are misplaced, you fucking meatball,” Kane said as he climbed up the stairs, taking two at a time. He paid no attention to the calls of the landlord as he rushed towards Marisol’s door. The building had no elevator so Kane was forced to climb four floors before reaching Marisol’s unit. He paused in front of the dark mahogany door and tried to catch his breath.

  He knew Marisol always kept a spare key above the door, so as he stood there, he searched the small space above the threshold until his fingertips grazed on a small piece of cold metal. With two fingers, he picked it up and put it inside the lock on the door. Surprisingly, the lock didn’t move.

  “Someone has been here...” He thought as he slowly turned the brass knob of the door with a piece of his shirt. It won’t be a good idea leaving prints behind.

  And he was right. A frightful mess greeted Kane as he opens the door to her apartment. Pieces of trash littered the floor, dining chairs found themselves scattered all across the living room, and sofa cushions were turned over, revealing the metal skeleton of the couch exposed. The house was a complete disaster. Broken picture frames were lying around the floor and Kane tried his best not to step on any of them as he tip-toed through the room. His feet found their way to her bedroom. Her dresser has been raided and her bed was completely tipped over. Not a single thing was left untouched by whoever it was who trashed this place.

  After a few minutes of fumbling around the mess, he found nothing. There wasn’t any piece of evidence to give him even the slightest hint as to who it was who tipped the house over and possibly killed Marisol. Hopeless, he tried to check her private office. She usually kept the door locked but the intruder managed to open it all the same.

  To his surprise, the office looked completely clean. Not even a speck of dust could be found lying around the small room. The desk was still standing up, the small bookshelf beside the window was still very neat, and the articles that she framed still hung on the wall. Everything inside looked perfect.

  “Too perfect...” He said aloud. He carefully stepped inside the room, trying not disturb the peace that settled inside the small office. He walked over to the desk and found that her stationery was still neatly arranged, just how she liked it. He raided the drawers in search for clues and again, found nothing of use to him. He remembered that Sol usually printed out references and drafts whenever she worked on a project.

  He turned his eyes to the small bookshelf behind the desk. The shelf was stacked with file organizers that were stuffed with papers. He took one out and flipped through the pages.

  Inside, he found nothing but blank office paper. Not even a single letter was written on any of the organizers that were placed on the shelf. All of her works have been replaced with blank pieces of paper as if to spite Kane. Infuriated once again, he knocked the files over, scattering papers everywhere.

  As he stood in the middle of the mess, a light bulb flashed in his head. Kane knew that she kept most of her active work files on her laptop. No doubt, the hint as to who or what killed her was on that device. Yet as he searched room after room, he found nothing but a black rosary, lying by the door. He picked it up and slid it down the front pocket of his jeans.

  Hopeless, he walked over to Marisol’s bedroom and sat at the foot of her bed. On top of her dresser stood a small black picture frame. Inside was a picture of her wrapping her arms around Kane and Freddy. It was taken almost a year ago at some random party they attended. She was grinning ear to ear as she drunkenly looked straight at the camera. Kane thought how he would never see that smile again.

  “I’m sorry.” He said, looking at her picture from across the room. “I am so sorry.” Then, for the first time in years, Kane broke down crying. He wept and wept until his eyes burned sore and his lungs felt like blowing up.

  After what felt like a century, Kane took a deep breath and looked back up at her picture. He took out the rosary from his pocket and prayed.

  “I promise you...this will not be in vain.” He said a short prayer. He slid the rosary back into his pocket before flashing her a small smile as he walked out of the door. He went down to the ground floor and pounded at the landlord’s room, just by the foot of the stairs. After a few minutes, the portly man finally opened the door.

  “Who went inside her house?” Kane said before the man could even react.

  “Excuse me?” He said with a thick Italian accent.

  “The men – the boys. The ones you said earlier?”

  “I don’t re –“ Before he could even finish his sentence, Kane pushed him inside his room and held him by the neck against the wall.

  “Don’t fucking tell me you don’t remember,” Kane whispered softly to his ear, threatening him. “You’ve seen them. You know what they look like. Now, tell me, who are they?” He said as he gripped his throat tighter before letting him go. The man got down on all fours and coughed like a madman, slapping the hardwood floor in the process.

  “I don’t know...” He wheezed. “I honestly didn’t see much.” Kane knelt down beside him and cupped his face with one hand.

  “Then what did you see?” He said as he squeezed the man’s fleshy, bearded face.

  “I saw two boys in black – black clothes! – I only saw them walk out the door, nothing more!” The Italian stuttered. His bottom lip began to quiver. Kane saw his eyes starting to water at the edges as he looked deeply into his dark brown eyes. “Please...I have a family....” The man started sobbing. Disgusted, Kane abruptly let go of his face before standing back up. Standing at 5’10, he loomed over the small Italian man kneeling in front of him.

  “I know you do. I won’t kill you if that’s what you’re thinking.” He took out his wallet from the pocket of his jeans and fished out a 20 dollar bill. “Here’s for your trouble.” He said as he dropped the cash in front of the man before heading out of the apartment building and into his car. He turned on the ignition and drove back home.

  It was nearly 12 noon when Kane finally got to his driveway.

  He lived in a small, two-story house in a quiet suburb, where no one bothered to get into his business. When Kane bought the house, he thought it was perfect for him. He was the kind of man that always chooses to be left alone, so the peaceful isolation that area offered him was more than he could ever ask for.

  He abruptly got out of the car and ran into the house. Inside, he quickly went over to his small, makeshift office and opened up his laptop. Kane knew that Marisol kept most of her files in her email. Problem was that he doesn’t know what her email password is and he is no techie.

  “Now, how do I get in?”

  After much contemplation, Kane reluctantly opened his own email and started to compose an email.

  As part of his ability to cut corners, Kane is much acquainted with underground assets and resources. And one of such assets is a mystery man that can only be identified by his email id 11@darkit212.net. While Kane was in the force he has tried locating the hacker on one or two occasions.

  Sometimes it is easy tracking the location of an email user. Simply find the IP address in the email header section and then look up the location of the IP address. It’s worth noting that you usually won’t be able to get the ex
act location of the actual person who sent the email. For example, if someone in Germany sends you an email using Gmail, the last IP address in the header section will probably be the public IP address assigned to that user from the ISP, which will give you the location of the user ranging from within a mile all the way to the city or region level.

  The reason for the wide range is that the IP address that an ISP assigns to a particular user is normally dynamic. This means that the IP address they had when the email was sent may now be assigned to a different user in the region. This is the main reason why you might get a wide geographic area when looking up the location of the IP address.

  But it was highly unsuccessful. Whoever it was behind that email address was really good. He is totally impenetrable. At least, he was good enough that Kane couldn’t get his hands on him with the resources he used to have in the force.

  The first time he came across 11@darkit212.net was during an investigation of an information broker. It took a while, but the broker was arrested operating at the heart of Eight Avenue. All the broker needed to do was identify a potential target; pay a fixed sum into a Bitcoin account provided by the hacker. Within a few hours, he gets the information and then proceeds to blackmail his target. If the blackmailing doesn't pay, he then proceeds to sell the information to the target's "rival" for a generous sum.

  Upon interrogating this information broker, he informed Kane of the strange hacker. And truly, when Kane sent a message, he got a response in less than 5 minutes. But that was all he could get...a damn response. He couldn't trace the location of the hacker.

  And the funny thing is that the hacker is ready to do the bidding of anyone who can pay in bitcoins, may it be cops or criminals.

  If you can't beat them, join them...

  When Kane couldn't track the hacker then, he decided against questioning the broker where he knew the hacker from.

  “Everyone knew it was from the dark web. It was no big deal." That was the only thing the broker could give him.

  "Hello, can you help me break into an email account?" Kane typed in. Should I do this? Kane knew what he was getting himself into, but seeing himself spread out so thinly, he knew he needed his help, regardless of what his principles dictate.

  Fuck it.

  He sent the message and waited.

  Chapter 4

  His dark brown sandals grazed against the white marble floor. The sound of his feet reverberated throughout the vast, quiet halls. With quick feet, he rushed from hallway to hallway until he reached two large wooden doors, which were both twice his size. His cold blue eyes stared blankly at the crucifix that hung above the doors.

  “I know you’re looking at me...” He thought as he looked straight into the eyes of the man nailed against the wall. After a few moments, he pulled one of the doors halfway open and stepped out. A thicket of trees and a wide pasture greeted him as he stepped out of the compound. The air was heavy with the smell of dirt. In the middle of it all lay an old cobblestone walkway, its end disappearing into the woods beyond. The compound was enclosed within towering walls topped with barbed wires. In the middle stood a large metal gate, and beyond that was a thicket of trees covering the whole estate.

  The young man looked beyond the tall bricks walls, and the large metal gates, and the thick green trees. There, he only saw the horizon. He saw an unforgiving world that lay beyond the four walls of the estate. Yet he yearned for that world. He longed for the world that he will never become a part of. His blue eyes looked intensely at the setting sun behind the trees.

  “Another day down.” He said as he did the Sign of the Cross and bowed his head. He turned to his right and walked towards the east. With his right hand, he gripped the handle of a heavy, faux leather bag. His grip grew tighter and tighter as he neared the end of the wing and saw a small black gate across the yard. When he reached it, he took out a key ring from his vestment and picked the smallest one. As he unlocked the gate, he stared at the portrait of the Virgin Mary resting by the threshold. Her dark eyes lingered in his mind as he walked out of the estate and into the woods beyond.

  The forest was a tricky place. If you didn’t know the way around or through it, chances are, you’ll get lost. On one or two occasions, a passer-by would often stumble upon the woods and would sometimes lose their way under the green roof of the trees. A few weeks after that, people would just hear about their disappearance. But he knew every twist and turn in the forest. With a steady pace, he walked through the undergrowth, turning at every hidden marker and after almost an hour of walking, he found himself standing in the thinner part of the forest. There, he saw the shadow of a tall building. Like the estate, the building was enclosed by a tall brick wall, but with the absence of the barbed wires on top.

  “Finally...” He thought as he neared the building. He saw a gated black door and he took out the key ring once again. This time, he picked a larger key that was rusted at the edges. He stuck it in the lock and yanked the gate open. the rusty hinges roared as he struggled to open it. Apparently, no one really likes entering a church from a relatively secret passage.

  He opened the subsequent door and locked both behind his back as he entered a moldy room. It was a very small room with no windows. The very air inside smelled ancient as if no one ever bothered to come in it in a long time. With the door closed, the room itself was pitch black. He reached out his hands and took two small steps forward. His fingertips brushed against the rough wooden surface of the wall. He roamed his hands around the wall until he felt a cold piece of metal against his palms. Slowly, he cupped the handle and slide the rusty lock. With a deep breath, he pushed the wall.

  Surprisingly, the wall opened with ease. As he pushed it open, a few books dropped to the floor with a loud thump.

  “Be careful, boy.” An old man wearing a clerical collar said. He was polishing a golden chalice by a small table across the room.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t know there was – “

  “Yes, yes...” He set down the chalice and smiled at the young man standing by what seemed to be a threshold. “Don’t worry, I understand. You’re not the first one to do that.” He laughed quietly before going back to polishing the chalice. The young man stepped inside the room and shut the trap door. As he did, he marveled at the white bookshelf that formed itself in front of him. With careful hands, he set the bag in front of the shelf.

  “Clever...very clever.” He thought as he picked up the fallen books and placed them back on the shelf.

  “Did you lock it, boy?” The old man said.

  “Lock it?” He asked as he set the thick books in their respective places.

  “Never mind.” The old man said as he placed the items he was cleaning in a tray. “I’ll do it myself. You go along your business now.”

  “Yes, Father.” He mumbled as he set down the last book and picked up his bag. He gave a quick nod to the old priest before heading out the door.

  The church was magnificent. Three, large, glistening chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, its dangling pieces casting rainbows all over the interior of the church. The nave composed of long wooden benches of the utmost quality. The altar itself was an intricate masterpiece. It was painted gold and angels hung from the ceiling which showed the painting of the Apostles. There were two statues standing next to the Cross, one of Mary and one of Joseph. All three of them looked down at the few people whispering their solemn prayers at the nave. The church looked more like a museum than a place of worship.

  The young man stood by the altar and looked at the few people who have come to pray. He clutched the bag tighter as he bowed his head and made his way down the steps. He walked over to the middle of the aisle, just by the foot of the altar and looked up.

  In front of him rose a great cross, a sculpture crafted to depict the pain and suffering Jesus went through in the crucifixion. It hung on the golden wall, staring intently down those who wish to repent or pretend. The sculpture of Jesus looked down upon the young m
an who knelt in front of him. He whispered a quiet prayer to the Lord before rising. With a blank stare, he looked straight into the eyes of the man on the cross.

  “I know you’re there.” He thought as he turned his back and walked down the aisle towards the confessional. There were three boxes, all set in a row. He chose the one at the far left side beside the wall.

  “I don’t think there’s any confession today, son.” An old woman clutching a rosary said from one of the benches. She looked at the young man’s outfit and her eyes widened a bit. “Oh, are you taking in confessions now?” She said, standing up from her seat.

  “No.” The man meekly replied. “I’m going to be the one doing the confessing, madam.” He said as he got inside the box. He sat down on the small bench and set the bag down beside him. The panel slid open.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The young man whispered. “It has been seven days since my last confession.”

  “What are your sins, my boy?” A deep voice replied. He knew that voice, and he also knew to fear it more than the voice of God himself. The young man stared at the small crucifix that hung on top of the small door.

  “Stop looking at me.”

  “Constantine.” He said as he looked once again into the eyes of Jesus. He heard the man clear his throat.

  “You’re late.”

  “I am not.” He whispered. “You’re simply early.”

  “Watch your tongue.”

  The young man stayed silent.

  “Do you have what I asked for?” The man closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. He roamed his hands across his chest, looking for his rosary.

  “Yes, I do.” He said as he dropped his hand in dismay.