by M. Z. Kelly
Walters fanned out a stack of the remaining mug shots. “We’re going to distribute her photograph to the press today and ask for the public’s help regarding any information about possible friends and associates. Patterson also had the same distinctive tattoo on her left forearm as Chloe Bryant has, the Latin phrase—Sorores Sanguinis, Sisters of the Blood.”
Bob Woodley added, “We questioned Bryant about the tattoo. It was done by a male subject she’d never met before in a house somewhere in the valley, but she couldn’t remember the location. We’ve run the tattoo through the data bases, done some checking with the local parlors, and even put feelers out around the state. So far, we haven’t come up with anything worthwhile.”
“Any footprints that are a match?” Special Agent Sullivan asked Walters. He was a bull of a man, with dark eyes and almost no forehead thanks to a thick head of jet black hair.
Woodley glanced at his paperwork and answered. “We have two other distinct footprints at the Jackson crime scene, but, so far, no suspects to match them to.”
“What about fingerprints?” Baker asked. “We know there were prints found at the scene of the Marilyn Bryant murder.”
Walters said, “We did lift some prints off the chair Bryant’s body was tied to. Unfortunately, so far, we aren’t getting a match through any of the databases.”
Walters went back to his paperwork. “There were also some hair samples taken from the Bryant crime scene. We’re doing DNA analysis on those, as well as fibers that we found at both crime scenes.”
“What kind of fibers?” Janice Taylor asked. She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties with straight brown hair swept into bangs that I already envied.
“They were cotton fibers, common to many types of apparel,” Walters said. “It could be they were dislodged during the crimes. We got a match on the fibers at both the Jackson and Bryant crime scenes. It’s not much to go on, but it is further evidence that the same subject or subjects were likely involved in both crimes.”
“Any progress on finding the manufacturers of the hood and leather ties used at the Jackson murder?” Skully asked, turning to Pearl.
“Nothing, so far, but we’re still checking on a few Internet sites that specialize in that sort of thing.”
“I’ve also got feelers out at a local goth shop on Melrose,” I said, feeling compelled to explain my inquiries there. “The store supplies a lot of the locals and the owner is looking through their catalogues.”
“Let’s talk about the rap video,” Skully said, moving on. I had the impression he was annoyed with me again, but wasn’t sure why. “Were we able to enhance any of the scenes this Myra person was in?”
Woodley lowered a screen and turned on a projector, taking over for his boss.
“This is the best we’ve been able to come up with. The original video edits have been digitally enhanced, but, as you can see, the woman known as Myra has so much makeup and hair, that we don’t have a lot to go on.”
Woodley killed the video after a few moments. “I can tell you that, based upon a physical analysis of the scene, the woman looks like she’s in her late twenties or early thirties, about five-eight, 135 pounds.”
Ellington then took over, turning to the profilers and the cult expert. “I’m going to have my staff give us some behavioral analysis of these crimes and then, hopefully, we’ll be able to move this investigation in a new direction.”
I was skeptical that the FBI had anything worthwhile to offer, but tried to control my big brother bias and listen with an open mind.
Janice Taylor stood, brushed the hair out of her eyes, and began the discussion, speaking in a polished, confident tone. “As you all know, this case involves three different murders and three crime scenes. Since we believe the killing of Marilyn Bryant was opportunistic, to extract information, I’m going to concentrate for a moment on the Nordquist and Jackson killings.
“The killer left a signature at both these scenes, namely lyrics that were written on a tarot card found in the street at the first scene and on the victim’s bedroom wall at the second. Ignoring any specifics about the lyrics for a moment, it’s important to understand that a signature, when used in the commission of multiple murders, is the perpetrator’s way of expressing some inner personal motivation and release.
“In these kinds of cases, the killings become an act of control, where the killer is acting compulsively by seeking empowerment through acts of extreme violence. The killing process becomes a ritual, involving the buildup and release of energy. The signature itself is a way for the killer to leave a psychological sign at a crime scene as a method of satisfying some inner need.”
She cleared her throat and continued, “The tarot card left at both scenes was the death card, a signature that expresses the perpetrator’s power over life and death. In the Trevon Jackson case, the killer left another signature behind when the victim was castrated. It is not atypical for these types of killers to engage in a pattern of escalating violence and depravity.”
Taylor paused, her gaze lingering on the audience. “This case is extremely unusual in several respects. First, the killings involve an apparent female perpetrator acting out a classic male pattern of ritualistic murder. Second, this female is working in concert with others acting as a surrogate killer on behalf of a male, either real or imagined. According to Chloe Bryant, she refers to this subject as Azazel, one of seven disciples chosen by Satan to seek revenge in the world.”
The FBI agent asked Fred Lundy, the NYPD cult expert, to join her and said, “There is a third aspect to these crimes involving a ritual of control that we now want to discuss.”
Lundy stepped forward. He was probably in his late forties, but was handsome, with a boyish face and large brown eyes. “As my colleague said, these crimes are unique on several levels, but it’s the aspect of manipulation that I want to discuss. The loss of individual or collective freedom through the use of physical or mental manipulation forms the basis of what is commonly referred to as brainwashing or mind control. There are numerous documented cases of these techniques being used in a variety of circumstances.
“There are also recorded instances of Satanic Ritual Manipulation or SRA having occurred over the past several decades. These case histories involve the use of physical, cognitive, and sexual control for the purposes of satanic indoctrination.”
Lundy paused and took a sip of water. “We believe that the signatures left a the crime scenes have been planted as part of a ritual of satanic control and manipulation. But those elements have been combined with another aspect of control that’s unique to this case.” Lundy nodded to Janice Taylor.
Taylor flipped on the overhead projector again and we saw the lyrics from the song, “Love me or Kill Me,” by Fleshded. I’d gone over the lyrics at least a dozen times and knew them by heart.
“As you probably know by now, these lyrics are from a love song, written to Satan,” Lundy said. “It’s a plea for Satan to come into his lover’s life, but there’s far more to this than meets the eye. In one respect, the song is a projection that’s being used by the killer to act upon what she believes is Satan’s desire—namely to kill on his behalf. The act of leaving the lyrics at the crime scene also forms part of the killer’s signature, but there’s an added aspect to these lyrics that we’ve recently discovered.”
Taylor made several keystrokes on the laptop and we saw the lyrics of, “Love Me or Kill Me,” shift. Some of the letters of the words stood out from the others, giving them a three-dimensional appearance.
“These lyrics are not only part of the killer’s signature, they are one of the portals that Chloe Bryant was talking about,” Fred Lundy said. “This is the entrance to, The Forbidden World.”
Chapter Thirty-One
We all turned as a door opened and Special Agent Brian Dressler entered. Byron Ellington introduced the computer expert, giving us a rundown of his impressive credentials.
The FBI agent stood about six feet tal
l with a solid build that filled out what looked to be an expensive Italian suit. He had brown hair and eyes, and spoke in a manner that immediately instilled both intelligence and confidence.
“Last night we had our agents in Atlanta interview Billie Bathgate, the lead singer of Fleshded,” Dressler began. “Bathgate wrote the lyrics to the song, ‘Love Me or Kill Me.’”
Dressler motioned to the lyrics projected on the screen. “As that interview progressed, our agents learned the song Bathgate wrote contains a cryptogram. As you may know, a cryptogram is a sequence of encrypted text where substitution ciphers are used to solve a puzzle.”
I saw Charlie scratching his head. Dressler had probably already lost part of his audience.
“To solve the puzzle in a typical cryptogram,” the agent continued, “letters are substituted for numbers and vice versa. Probably the most famous cryptogram of all time was one sent by the Zodiac killer that has never been solved. Fortunately, our cryptogram is far easier to decipher.”
Dressler took a moment and used a wireless device to manipulate what was on the overhead projector before continuing. “According to Bathgate, the lyrics of, ‘Love Me or Kill Me,’ were written as part of a puzzle intended to be a marketing campaign for their song.
“The encryption and subsequent letters were developed as an interactive series of clues that allowed players to engage in an Internet game of hide and seek, all designed to promote the band’s music.”
Dressler worked his laptop for a moment and then went on. “These lyrics are a duplicate of the ones printed on the CD case for the band’s latest album.” He hit a button, magnifying the lyrics. “As you can see, some of the letters in the lyrics have a shadow number attached to them. Each number, in turn, corresponds to a letter of the alphabet. For example, the letter ‘s’ in silence has a shadow number six. When you put the entire sequence of numbers together with the corresponding letters from of the alphabet, you eventually get this.”
He hit several keystrokes and we saw the highlighted letters from the song lyrics and corresponding numbers begin to line up on the screen. Those numbers, in turn, corresponded with the letters of the alphabet until the screen spelled out something Chloe Bryant had told us about:
FORBIDDENWORLD
Every doubt I’d once harbored about the FBI went away in that moment. I knew we were looking at an entirely new dimension of the case, one that we’d never have found without the handsome computer expert standing before us.
Dressler turned away from the screen and addressed us again. “Before we move on, I probably need to explain that what we’re looking at is something called an Alternate Reality Game or ARG. These games have been used for a variety of reasons in recent years, including marketing products and the creation of puzzles for on-line players who immerse themselves in ARG worlds.
“These players form an interactive virtual reality, where the game unfolds in a variety of ways, including websites and interactive real time events, such as social gatherings. The web allows players to put together the clues to the puzzle, solve mysteries, and share a story on-line through various forums and chat rooms. It’s all intended to create hype or a buzz about a particular event or product.”
Dressler moved to his computer as Skully asked, “This ARG game that you’re talking about. Was it created by Bathgate?”
Dressler shook his head. “There are several companies and individual providers for these games. They’re hired controllers, employed to create and control the game. The controller monitors what’s happening within the game, so that clues can be provided and the game can progress in a mutually satisfying way until an outcome is achieved.”
The FBI agent made a couple of keystrokes and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet the controller for, ‘Love Me or Kill Me.’ His name is John Brighton, but you may know him by his moniker—Azazel.”
After another click of his mouse, we were all staring up into the face of a well-dressed, dark-haired man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He looked like he might be a businessman or maybe the CEO of a company sitting in an office that overlooked the New York City skyline.
Charlie leaned over and whispered to me, “Doesn’t look like the devil’s disciple to me.”
“A handsome devil,” I said.
“We are trying to determine if John Brighton is a real person or not,” Dressler said. “His photograph and name were provided to Bathgate at the time of his hire, but, so far, we haven’t been able to identify him as being a real person with an actual business. We think he may be the fictional creation of someone who signed on as the controller of this game and convinced the singer that he had an actual business based upon information on his website.”
We spent the next ten minutes watching as Dressler moved us through a series of screens, each screen containing a clue that moved to another screen, all part of the ARG that John Brighton or Azazel had created.
“In the case of, ‘Love Me or Kill Me,’” Dressler went on, “we learned that the controller co-opted or took over the game to create a world of his own. Bathgate said that Brighton was fired when the game started to move in directions the band had no control over.
“These screens each contain a clue or mystery that moves the player deeper into Azazel’s Forbidden World. They are breadcrumbs that have led us into a virtual world. This is a world that Azazel very much wants us to see.”
We followed along as Dressler walked us through additional screens, some containing nursery rhymes with encoded messages. Several screens had famous landmarks and buildings that dissolved into a series of numbers when the cursor moved across them. We also saw dark images of ghoul-like creatures that walked through a cemetery with headstones containing clues.
Finally, after at least a dozen screens, we arrived at a scene that moved the viewer inside what looked like a monastery or gothic church. It was here, in this last scene, that Dressler explained where we had arrived.
“We’ve all been invited to dinner,” the FBI agent announced, a cryptic smile slipping across his face. “Azazel is our host and this is his version of, The Last Supper.”
We collectively leaned forward, holding our breath as we examined what looked like a computer version of Leonardo de Vinci’s famous painting, only with considerable alterations. Instead of Jesus and his disciples sitting behind the table, this version of The Last Supper had Azazel or Brighton at the center of the table. A beautiful woman with flowing dark hair sat beside him.
“Guess who came to dinner?” I whispered to Charlie and Pearl.
“Myra,” Pearl said.
Dressler continued, “When I said we’ve all been invited to dinner, I wasn’t kidding. This scene has been created specifically for us. Azazel and his Predators know we’re here. He’s invited us all to play his game. He’s out there somewhere, watching and waiting. This is his dinner party and we are his guests.”
“Predators?” Skelly said. “Who are you talking about?”
I barely heard what Dressler said in response. My eyes were scanning the subjects seated at the table in the painting. Instead of apostles, I realized I was looking into faces that I’d seen before, faces of our murder victims, but transformed by costume and circumstance to give the impression that they’d somehow stepped across a five hundred year old threshold in time.
Then I realized something else. A woman sat at the far end of the table. Azazel had his arm outstretched, pointing at her as if to say she was being selected for execution or maybe something worse.
“Holy shit,” Charlie said, apparently recognizing the woman’s features at the same time I did.
The woman we were all looking at sat apart from the others. She had a shocked expression, no doubt horrified at the realization that Azazel had selected her. The woman in the painting had green eyes and brown hair that seemed slightly unkempt.
The woman Azazel had chosen as part of his game of torture and murder was me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
; The building from where Myra and Rose watch the cop’s apartment above the appliance store is across the alleyway. It’s been a cool, cloudy day, but the second-story office in the industrial building is warm and inviting. The space is tastefully furnished. It looks more like a tropical island retreat than a partially abandoned office building.
The room has a blue and white slipcovered sofa and rattan tables. There’s a king-sized bed with carved bamboo posts. The walls are hung with travel posters. Potted palms and ferns accent the decor. It all suggests a sunny, tropical locale. It’s been chosen carefully—by Azazel.
“I think we need to give Azazel and the Predators something special tonight,” Myra suggests to Rose after turning on the camera and joining her in bed. “Something they will never forget.”
Rose giggles. She turns to the camera, smiles and brushes a hand through her long blonde hair. “That sounds good. Let’s make it memorable. Just like that old song, let’s give them something to talk about.”
The younger of the two women touches her mouth, wetting her fingers, and running them over her half-exposed breasts, beneath the black satin and lace top. She moves her hand down, feeling herself. She moans.
Myra is wearing a red and black micro-mini skirt, an X-harness over her bare breasts, a leather bondage belt, and fish-net stockings. Her hair is a knotted turquoise fall, and, as always, she has her jewelry, including the silver stud in her tongue.
The costume is designed to give the viewer the impression that she’s Rose’s sex toy. Myra smiles when she thinks about that. Toys are made for games and, while the afternoon has been fun, the time for games is over.
The leather bag is underneath the bed. Myra reaches down, bringing it up. She pauses, looking into the camera, before turning to Rose and smiling.