by David Hosp
Stone got up and moved to the other end of the bar so he could get a better look at this odd character. His new vantage did nothing to discourage his initial assessment, and he dedicated himself to watching the man closely for the rest of the evening.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. Lavender and musk and alcohol mixed with the more subtle odors of desire and sin to form a tapestry of desperation. The experience was so powerful it tickled something in his memory from before the death of his parents—before he’d changed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it reminded him of the loss and pain he’d suffered, and it made him angry.
Put it out of your mind, he told himself. The time was coming, and he was the instrument of God’s final will, but he needed to focus if he was going to be of any use. A young girl—no more than nineteen, if that, he guessed—walked by, looking down to smile at him as she passed. She was wearing a red silk dress, tight over her breasts to accentuate and reveal her lithe curves. From there it clung to her midriff and waist before letting go of her form to fall in a loose skirt to just above her knees. The skirt swished softly as she walked, and it brushed his hand as she passed close. He was surprised at the inner stirring it caused, and he struggled visibly to keep his composure.
He took a sip of his tonic water. She was too young anyway, he thought. She hadn’t yet caused enough of God’s children to stray. She would burn, no doubt, but not at his hand.
He picked up his head again and scanned the bar. There were so many to choose from, it was exhilarating. After several minutes of looking, he found the one he wanted—the one God wanted. She was sitting at the bar at the far end of the room, her legs crossed seductively, stirring a drink with the end of her finger. She did it sensually, running the pad of her finger around the edge of the glass, dipping it in occasionally to mix the drink, then lifting her hand to her mouth and dragging her finger over her lips, licking the moisture off with the tip of her tongue. It was a routine—a performance—that was clear, but it was also effective.
He stared at her for a few minutes, watching her practiced tease. She was older than most of the others—into her thirties, he guessed—but stunning in a sophisticated way. It looked as if she’d sat at that bar for an eternity, tempting the weak and destroying God’s work. He hated her instantly.
After several minutes she noticed him staring at her. She looked surprised, embarrassed, and flattered all at the same time. She’d practiced that look in the mirror, too, he was sure. She smiled at him and then looked away for a moment, then returned her gaze and gave him a full smile that lacked any hint of inhibition or reservation. He couldn’t bring himself to smile back at her, but simply nodded his head.
He stayed in his seat for a moment, wondering what the proper protocol was, whether he should cross the bar and approach her. She was the one God wanted, he knew that, but he had trouble bringing himself to initiate contact in public. He was still locked in indecision when she got up and started walking toward his table.
She swung her hips as she walked, and the dress showed off her legs and chest in a provocative way. Several men turned to watch her, but there was no doubt she was staring at him, and it was clear she was coming his way. A lesser man would be excited, he told himself, as he fought off the stirrings of lust, anger, and aggression.
When she reached his table, she sat down opposite him. She didn’t wait for an invitation or an introduction, or even a smile or nod of encouragement. Just sat down as though it was her right to intrude on his evening. Her arrogance made him hate her all the more, and it made him happy for what God had in store for her.
Rejoice over her, O heaven!
Rejoice, saints and apostles and prophets!
God has judged her for the way she has treated you!
The words of the scripture screamed through his head, blazing a trail of white fury. They echoed in his ears and blocked out all sound, leaving him deep in isolation. She was smiling at him now, the whore, smiling as if she expected him to soil himself with her and debase his very essence—and pay willingly for the privilege. She was talking to him, talking as though she had a right to converse with the Lord’s emissary on equal terms. She would pay for her arrogance in accordance with the prophecy.
He still couldn’t hear her, since the screeching in his head was relentless, walling off the rest of the world, but he could understand her nonetheless. The words were simple enough to read on her thick, painted lips. “Hello,” she said, still smiling. “My name’s Eve, what’s yours?”
Slowly, a smile came to his own lips, with the realization that God was with him, guiding his every move. He was tempted to respond with righteousness—I am the Alpha and the Omega; the First and the Last; the Beginning and End—but that would have been presumptuous, for he wasn’t the Lord. He was merely a servant of the Lord, and a witness to the prophecy of the apocalypse fulfilled. Suddenly his smile broadened with a new revelation, and the screaming in his head subsided as he returned to his earthly task.
“My name is John,” he replied.
Chapter Twenty-five
THE ODD-LOOKING MAN was leaving with the hooker, and Stone had a decision to make. The man had done nothing overt to make himself a legitimate suspect, but Stone knew in his gut that something was off about him. He could sense it. The man seemed angry, bitter. There was a violence in the way he carried himself.
Of course, that would never stand up in court. So, for the moment, all Stone could do was allow events to unfold. This, he was beginning to realize, was the worst part of being a police officer. The restraints placed on him by the letter of the law often kept him from preventing a crime he knew was imminent. Every day on patrol, he’d seen the hoodlums standing on corners outside crack houses, their cell phones blaring. There was no doubt that they and their accomplices were loaded down with illegal drugs—drugs that were stealing youth and opportunity from an entire generation. He knew it. They knew it. And yet that knowledge wasn’t enough to authorize action. Instead, the police were forced to wait and see if they could catch one of the dealers in a transaction. It was just as they whispered to you at the police academy: the law knows no common sense.
As the strange man left with his new companion, Stone threw money on the table to cover the evening’s soda waters and headed for the door. He needed to stay far enough behind to avoid detection, but close enough to keep the couple in sight. Maybe he was wasting his time. After all, anyone as awkward as this guy appeared would likely have to pay for sex. But Stone had decided to follow his instincts, and his instincts were telling him to follow them.
Outside he spotted the couple moving down the street and fell in step behind.
Eve. He smiled at the thought. Was it possible God had realized the depths of that first mistake, when he pulled the rib from Adam’s chest and molded it into temptation? It was Eve who’d forced God to banish mankind from Eden. Perhaps it was Eve who held the key that would allow the righteous back in.
“So, what are you into, John?” She asked the question without shame or remorse, as though she were selling him an automobile rather than her most personal affections. It amazed and angered him and he had trouble hiding his disdain in the look that he gave her.
“Hey, not that it matters, as long as it’s nothing too far out of bounds. I don’t do anything involving animals or food, and I won’t let myself be tied up. Safety issue, you know. After all, we just met.” She smiled at him. “I’ll tie you up if you like, though.”
This time, he smiled back. They were getting close to his house, and his anticipation lightened his mood enough to feign kindness. He was growing excited about the things he’d do to her. Not the things she was anticipating, but things far more intimate.
Give her as much torture and grief
as the glory and luxury she gave herself.
“It’s right up here, on the right,” he said, pointing to his house, which was lost in the shadows between the streetlights.
“Nice. I like
it out here. It’s quiet,” she said. They were standing on the stoop, and he slid the key into the lock, relishing the fit as the tumblers fell into place. Before he could turn the key and open the door, though, she put her hand on his as if to stop him. He was enraged at her audacity; laying her filthy hands on his sanctified flesh. “You know it’s a hundred dollars, right?”
He actually laughed at that. “Don’t worry. I have more money than you’ll ever need,” he said.
“Ooh, I like the sound of that!” she cooed. “Let’s get started.”
He pushed open the door and stepped back, allowing her to go in. She looked at him one more time, making her final decision. Then she stepped across the threshold.
Chapter Twenty-six
STONE WATCHED THEM go inside. He was standing on Cypher Street, a half block down from the little house at the end. He stood there for several minutes, debating what to do. The tension that had run through him when he first laid eyes on the strange man hadn’t left yet. If anything, it had gotten stronger.
After a while, he wandered down the street, ambling as though he’d been drinking. When he arrived at the last little house on the right-hand side, he slowed his pace even more. The lights were still off inside, giving it a deserted look.
He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. There wasn’t a soul. The houses around him were shut tight against the darkness, drawn up from the dangers of the urban evening. Blue light from televisions flickered in many of the upstairs windows, and a few soft reading lamps cast a warmer glow, but these were the signs of lives turned inward, unconcerned with what might be happening beyond their doors.
He looked around one more time and, seeing no one, strode up the front steps of the house. Now the shadows of the small covered stoop gave him a feeling of protection against prying eyes, and he leaned up against the door, straining to hear any noises within. It was hopeless, he realized. The seal on the door was tight, and no sound escaped the dark little house.
He leaned over the railing and tried to look in one of the windows. Old lace curtains hung from the window tops, and cheap blinds were drawn all the way down, so he could only see a crack through the gauzy material. In the darkness, it was futile. He could make out almost nothing inside, just a lone chair next to a table with a plain white lamp on it. There was no detectable motion at all, and he found that odd. If the couple were having sex, he’d surely have seen some sign, a light going on upstairs, the rustle of a curtain. But there was nothing; just a dark, empty silence.
He looked at his watch. It had been nearly a half hour since he’d observed them going inside, and there’d been no sign of life since they stepped through the door. Something was wrong; he knew it. In the bottom of his heart, he had never been surer of anything. He looked around again at the quiet street. He’d have to make a decision soon. Otherwise the issue would become moot, and if another woman died without his doing something to stop it, he’d never be able to live with himself.
Stone sighed and shook his head. “To protect and to serve,” he whispered as he pulled out a leather case the size of a cigarette pack. He unzipped a flap and pulled out a tool that looked like a tweezers and a long metal toothpick. When they taught the class at the academy on how to pick locks, it had seemed silly. Most of the boys he’d grown up with in Southie had mastered that art early. At the same time, it was good that the department encouraged him to stay in practice. He slid the tools into the lock, playing them back and forth as he pulled them out slowly. When he heard the tumblers click into place, he used the leverage between the two tools to turn the lock, sliding back the deadbolt. Then he repeated the same procedure with the lock on the door handle. The process took him less than twenty seconds.
He turned the handle, holding his breath as he listened for any disturbance inside. He heard nothing, so with great care he pushed open the door, wincing as the hinges let out a quiet squeak.
Still holding the door, he reached behind him and pulled his gun out of a holster hidden in the small of his back. Because he was working undercover, he had no flashlight, so he was going into the house virtually blind, but he was determined to go in nonetheless. It was too late now to retreat. He took a deep breath and stepped into the house like a swimmer slipping into water, letting the darkness swallow him entirely.
This was to be his masterpiece. He’d worked hard with each of the prior girls, searching for the type of pain that would best please the Lord and stop the screaming in his ears, but the relief had always been temporary and incomplete. Now he believed he’d found the key.
She was strapped down on the table, naked to the waist, as the chemicals in her blood pushed their way around her body, paralyzing her, carrying away the last of her ability to struggle. Only her eyes moved, wheeling around in terror. They spotted him at the counter, pouring sulfuric acid and other chemicals into a steel spray can, his own eyes full of excitement and satisfaction.
She will be consumed by fire,
for mighty is the Lord who judges her.
When the kings of the earth who committed adultery
with her
and shared her luxury see the smoke of her burning,
they will weep and mourn over her.
He looked at her again over his shoulder. Her eyes, now un-blinking, strained to close. It was a last attempt at escape, but the potent cocktail of anesthetics had taken from her even that ability. So she stared unwilling at her tormentor, and from the corner of her left eye he saw a single tear trickle down the side of her cheek.
And then, almost as though to comfort her, he smiled and began reciting from the final prophecy:
Blessed is the one who reads the words of this
prophecy,
and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart
what is within it,
for the time is near …
Yes, he knew he would enjoy this.
Chapter Twenty-seven
STONE MOVED WITH DELIBERATION, placing his rubber-soled shoes carefully to avoid any sound as he made his way around the first floor of the little house. It was dark inside. The shades were pulled on all of the windows, blocking even the pale filter of moonlight from the neat, uncluttered interior. The heat was unbearable as he moved from room to room, slipping silently along the walls with his gun drawn. All of the windows were closed, and he could feel the sweat pouring down his forehead, dripping off his nose.
When he came to the stairway leading to the second floor, he paused, listening for the characteristic muffled cries of sex coming from upstairs. There was no sound at all, though, and he began moving up the stairs. There were only three rooms on the second story—a bathroom and two small bedrooms. Stone stole into each of them, panning his gun around, edging it into the closets to make sure there was no one there. Once he’d satisfied himself that the upstairs was deserted, he crept back down to the ground floor.
He was at a loss. He knew that the strange man had brought the girl into the house, and he knew they hadn’t come out. So where were they? He checked the back door. It was bolted from the inside and opened onto an enclosed patio with a couple of rusted chairs stacked against a high fence. It didn’t look like anyone had been out there in years.
He walked back into the living room and stood still for a minute or two, his ears straining for any sign of activity.
That was when he heard it. It was a high-pitched whine, pulsing with a sick, familiar rhythm he couldn’t place. He held his breath, trying to get a better fix on the sound. It was so thin it almost blended into the faint ringing in his own ears, but after a moment he guessed it might be emanating from back toward the kitchen. He moved there, stopped, and listened again. The noise sounded like it was coming from the far corner, behind a rack of coats. He tensed as he crossed the room, his palm opening and closing on the handle of his gun, which he now held tight to his side.
When he reached the coats, he brushed them aside and stared hard into the dark corner. At first it looked
like nothing but a wall, covered in cheap faux-brick wallpaper, but as he peered closer, he could see the outline of a doorway. With his right hand, he leveled his gun, ready to open fire at anything that might come screaming out. With his left hand, he traced the sides of the door, looking for a handle or a doorknob. It took a minute or two, but he finally found a latch set flush to the door’s surface. He dug his fingernails into the edge and worked it loose, hooking his finger into the small metal loop that protruded from the door.
He could hear his heart beating now, so loud that it drowned out the ringing in his ears and the high-pitched whine from behind the door. His breath came too quickly, and he steadied himself against the fear, forcing his chest to expand and take a full breath. Then, in one quick, silent motion, he swung open the door.
The tiny entryway flooded with bright light, and Stone had to shade his eyes for a moment as his pupils adjusted. Once they had, he could see a narrow stairway leading down to the basement. He was surprised at how bright and clean the stairway seemed, as though it was whitewashed on a regular basis. It almost reminded him of a hospital or a doctor’s office, and for a brief moment he thought that perhaps he’d been wrong. Maybe there was nothing sinister about the strange man, or about the dark little house in which he lived.
Then he heard the high-pitched whine again.
It had stopped for a moment or two, he realized, but now it started up again. It pierced the air with its pulsating cry, mechanical and unrelenting. Something was definitely wrong here, he knew, and he stepped slowly down the stairs.