“Let me go. You don’t want to…” Any strength he had mustered was quickly failing him.
“I can’t let you go, Daddy. The FBI thinks you’re behind the offerings.” Joshua broke out into a bout of laughter. “They must have a sense of humor. Me, on the other hand, I don’t. I take this very seriously.”
The words weren’t all making it through—at least not on a level he could comprehend. He didn’t understand why any of this needed to happen to him. Why had his son strapped him in here? Was he planning to—
“You can’t be running around pretending you are me.” Joshua stared at him intently. “How dare you?”
He didn’t want to be Joshua. He wished he’d never met the boy. “I’m not claiming anything, Son,” Stanley said.
The smack across his face was swift and hard. It shoved Stanley’s teeth into his cheek, and the taste of metal filled his mouth.
“Don’t call me Son.” Joshua squared his shoulders, clasping his hands in front of himself.
Shit, this wasn’t looking good. Any familiarity in Joshua’s eyes was gone. Instead, within lurked a stranger, a demon. Stanley was going to die. Here, like this, bound in chains.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, trembling through his core.
A smile crept onto Joshua’s face. “You are going to be the ultimate sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice?” The one-word question slipped out, but the past rushed over him. Not long after first meeting Joshua, who was nineteen at the time, he had presented him with a gift. If one wanted to call it that. The memory of the dead animal still made his stomach curdle.
“I am a Mayan priest, Father.”
Joshua had said it over and over with the beaming smile of a young child who’d drawn a picture or crafted a gift with his own hands.
All this was Patty’s fault! If she hadn’t kept the boy a secret from him, if she hadn’t told him that his father had left them to study ancient cultures—specifically mentioning the Mayans—none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have allowed himself to get all caught up in this nightmare—a father protecting his child when he should have been protecting the world from that child instead. But he had found himself eventually taking some pride in the boy. He had created another living being, and really, who was he to judge? He’d been judged all his life. So he’d agreed to keep the family secret, that his son was a serial killer in the making, and instead, Stanley bonded with the boy. But it quickly took a turn he hadn’t anticipated, and the truth was more complicated than he’d originally thought. And when he’d become involved, there had been a part of him that had enjoyed the power over others. He might not be able to take their lives, but he could control them. Plus, when Joshua had something to occupy his time, he was calmer.
“Let me go, Son. We can talk.” He couldn’t just give up on his life.
Joshua gave a sinister grin and shook his head. “It’s far too late for conversation, Offering.”
His mental illness had advanced, and what Stanley saw before him was “the Other.” At least that’s what he called it. And it was coming out more often. That was partially why Stanley had decided to run on Monday.
“The FBI think you’re behind everything. It’s time to prove who I am.” The Other’s eyelids fluttered, and he took deep breaths, drawing Stanley’s attention to the tiny bones around his son’s neck.
“You will no longer take credit for my work. You will no longer pretend you are me.”
“Please, I never—”
The punch to the gut came so quickly that Stanley didn’t have time to prepare for the impact. But his body barely moved, given the tight restraint system he was in.
Stanley vomited, barely missing the Other, who had jumped back. But instead of disgust showing on the Other’s face, there was amusement.
“You think you’re strong, Stanley Gilbert?”
“I’m your father.”
The Other spat on the ground. “You are not my father, human.”
The Other went to the table and picked something up. When he turned around, Stanley could see that it was a rudimentary knife. It made him think of the blade the Mayans had used for the heart-extraction ritual.
Oh God. No! No! No!
He swallowed bile and his mind slowed.
The Other was about six inches from him now, motionless, except for his eyes that traced his face.
If only he could think clearly, he’d bring back his studies of the Mayan culture beyond the human sacrifices that involved such brutality and bloodshed. How could he appeal to the Other? One word kept coming to him: submission.
“I am yours.” The words came out jumbled, and the Other’s brows contorted in confusion.
How could he word this in such a way as to keep his life? Stanley’s stomach tightened and so did his chest. He had to think!
The sacrifices were usually high-ranking prisoners of war—warriors. Those who didn’t qualify or who were of lower status were used for labor. Yes, that was it. His weak nature finally had something positive to offer.
“You don’t want to sacrifice me. I am not worthy.” Yes, that was it. That should work, or at least make the Other think about what he was planning to do, how Stanley was far from an ideal sacrifice.
The Other didn’t say anything or move. Was he even breathing? Did he need to breathe? Nonsense. His son was in there…somewhere.
“Please, I am weak. I always have been.” Stanley’s head was clearing, thank God. “I’ve been living a double life. You know this. Saddled with a vindictive woman for seventeen years. I should have been with your mother.” Maybe he could make the Other disappear and bring his son back. “The FBI wouldn’t have known a thing about me if I hadn’t decided to toss my phone in the river.”
“I couldn’t reach you.” There was the glimpse of his son in the eyes now, and a single tear fell down his cheek.
“Please, Son. I love you. I’ve done so much for you.”
“No!” He roared, his eyes clouding over and the darkness moving in. “You have not.”
This was it. Stanley was going to die. He never thought he’d wish for the FBI to come for him—turning oneself in always had a better consequence—but he prayed to God they would find him before it was too late!
His breathing was becoming erratic and signaled the onset of a panic attack. He didn’t need this now. He had to quiet his mind, his nerves.
He was heaving, pulling on the restraints with his body’s efforts to derive oxygen.
The Other was observing him, angling his head. Was he trying to read Stanley’s mind? Maybe a panic attack wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would support his claim of inferiority. Hopefully, buy him his freedom long enough for the FBI to rescue him.
-
Chapter 41
PIKE, MY TEAM, AND I, along with a couple officers, were on a side road near the Havens’ property waiting on some last-minute items to fall into place before we moved in. Jack had Nadia pulling medical records for Patty and Joshua Haven and seeing if she could dig up anything else that might prove useful.
SWAT was called in to assist, local traffic would be detoured from the neighborhood, and an ambulance would be standing by. We had the blueprint of the house spread on the hood of Jack’s rental and warrants were in process—two arrest warrants and a search warrant. Officers had already confirmed that Patty Haven was home.
Jack was sucking on his cigarette like it might be the last one he’d ever have. “We’ll need to approach this slightly differently than we normally do,” he said. “They have a large property, and the backyard is gated.” He was primarily talking to his team, but he glanced at Pike, regarding the fence.
“At least seven feet high,” Pike pitched in.
“The property backs against the river…” Jack paused, giving his strategy some thought.
“I’m not sure
if the fence goes all the way to the river or not,” Paige said.
“We need to bring backup in and position them on a boat.”
“Good idea.” Pike signaled to one of the officers to arrange it. “Put them undercover and give them fishing rods.”
Jack addressed his team. “We’re all going to the front door. We’ll knock, announce ourselves, and head in, then spread out. Brandon and I will cover the main level. Paige and Zach, you two take upstairs.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Zach said.
“Keep alert. Joshua and his mother will likely do whatever’s necessary to protect their secret.”
“With a house this big, they might have staff,” Paige offered.
“We’ll need to approach with caution, then,” Jack replied.
His phone rang, which he answered on speaker.
“The license plate from the mall’s parking lot came back. The van is registered to Wayne Reed,” Nadia said on the other end of the line.
No one on the team said a word. It was an answer we’d expected.
Nadia went on. “And Joshua was diagnosed with DID, but he’s never been treated with medication.”
“And what does that mean for his condition?” I asked.
“Dissociative identity disorder,” Nadia explained. “Joshua has at least two personalities, maybe more. It’s usually caused from sustained abuse over a period of time. It’s how the victim seeks comfort outside of himself or herself.”
“So what happened to Joshua?” Paige asked.
“Patty Long would have paid to have her and Joshua’s legal names changed to Haven,” I began. “And a haven is—”
“A safe place,” Paige finished.
“Yes. So maybe Patty moved here to get her son away from someone,” I concluded.
“Nadia, check if there’s any evidence that Patty or Joshua were abused,” Jack directed.
“Will do.”
“I’d also like to know where she got all her money,” Jack continued.
“I’ll do my best to find out.”
“Remember how I said that cutting out the tongue wasn’t a part of the ancient ritual?” Zach asked suddenly. “We figured it just might have to do with more than one person being involved in the actual ritual process, but that’s not necessarily the case. It could carry a deeper meaning. One of Joshua’s personalities could feel suppressed and want to be more dominant than it is, but one of his other personalities is, in effect, silencing it.”
“Do you think his secondary personality is the one behind the murders?” I asked.
“His second, third, who knows? We should prepare for the distinct possibility that he won’t be Joshua Haven when we go in, though.”
“Zach,” Paige began, “you also mentioned at the crime scene the other day that it could be a way of silencing his victims, taking their voices. In cases of child abuse, the kids are often told to keep quiet.”
“Nadia, you still there?” Jack asked.
“I am.”
“Dig into close family relatives of Patty and Joshua, too.”
“Okay.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Joshua at this point?” he asked.
“From the file, all I can see is that he and his mother moved to Savannah when he was thirteen.”
“He would have been pulled out of school.” That could be hard on some kids.
“Not the case for Joshua. He lasted for half a year of kindergarten in a public school, but then he was homeschooled.”
“Mom was sheltering him from the world,” Paige said.
“Or trying to shelter the world from him,” I countered.
“How far back does the abuse go?” The thought made me sick.
Pike’s phone rang. A few seconds in with his caller, he said to us, “The undercover officers are in position.”
An officer came hurrying toward us. “We’ve got the warrants.”
“Stay safe,” Nadia said before disconnecting.
Jack dropped his cigarette butt and extinguished it with a twist of his shoe. “Let’s go.”
Jack, Paige, Zach, and I headed up the Havens’ driveway by foot. Savannah SWAT were in position to enter the garage, and they’d go into the house from there.
Jack banged on the door. “FBI! Open up!”
He paused and was met with silence on the other side of the door.
“Open up or we’re coming in,” Jack bellowed into the evening air.
We heard the rushing of feet inside. It was hard to distinguish how many people. They weren’t headed toward the door, though.
Glass shattered inside, and a woman cursed.
Where did she think she was going that we couldn’t catch up with her?
An officer spoke over the comms. “There’s a white van in the garage.”
Probably Wayne Reed’s. That meant Stanley Gilbert was likely inside.
Jack turned to me. “Now.”
I knew that he was inferring that I should bust the door. It was wood so I did it the old-fashioned way with a strong leg and a well-aimed foot. It took one kick, and I thanked my exercise regimen for that.
We stepped inside and set out as per the plan. Jack and I stuck to the main level while Paige and Zach headed upstairs.
My heart was beating fast, but my mind was clear and processing my surroundings.
The house was beyond fancy, every accent the touch of a professional decorator. The door opened to a large room with fifteen-foot beamed ceilings and windows that went the full height of the wall. The furniture layout and area rugs designated different parts of the space, including one that served as a living room and had a TV. It was on at a low volume, suggesting that at least one person had been watching. On the floor, next to a side table, was a broken vase. It was probably what I had heard smash when we had been outside.
Jack and I made our way to the back of the home, where the kitchen was located.
Muffled screaming found my ears.
I hurried toward a door that was to the left of the kitchen. Opening it, I saw nothing but darkness.
-
Chapter 42
MEMORIES OF THIS MAN, his father, kept washing in and blending with rage. It was difficult to distinguish his feelings, his perceptions, from each other. There was a tug of mercy and then, in a flash, all-consuming hatred.
He had come back to turn them in. That could be the only explanation for his return. He was going to desert them. Yet Stanley kept looking at him as if he had something more substantial to say. All that was coming through, however, was him pleading for his life. And did he really think it necessary to proclaim himself as being inferior? He didn’t possess the strength to carry out the ritual himself. He simply abducted the offerings and handed them over.
Yes, Stanley was weak. It was a choice he had made.
While Joshua might have been viewed by outsiders as a misfit, it wasn’t like he had made the decision to be this way. He had been chosen. He didn’t belong here. And not just in Georgia, but on Earth. He was above human form while Stanley was simply pathetic.
“Do you honestly think you can talk me out of sacrificing you?” Joshua said. “I would take honor in your death.”
“You…” Stanley seemed to have lost his strength to speak after the full-blown panic attack he’d experienced earlier.
Joshua got up in his face. “You what? What about me?”
Stanley’s eyes closed briefly. “You are not a strong warrior…”
Rage slithered up Joshua’s spine, and he felt his body becoming cold. “I am—”
“You are a…god.”
Any anger that had swelled melted away. He stepped back, never having expected those words to come out of Stanley’s mouth. “Why do you say that?”
“I can tell.”
He couldn’t gauge if Stanley was bullshitting him and just saying whatever it took to be freed, but it felt amazing to hear. He was being recognized. None of his other offerings had a clue. They had been conquered mentally and physically, and had given up not long after they’d had their tongues cut out, as if they had resigned themselves to death, knowing there would be no escaping it.
Joshua’s gaze hardened on Stanley. There would be no release for him. He needed to account for his failures, and Joshua was not a merciful god. He was one who demanded blood sacrifice.
He went to the table to retrieve the knife, and the door to the outer room opened.
What was all that racket? Who dared come down here when he was in the middle of preparing an offering?
The door to the inner room opened and his mother was standing before him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“The FBI are here,” she said. “They’ve figured it out.”
He didn’t know what he should feel in that moment, but a radiant calm spread over him. Maybe the next phase of his life was close at hand. Maybe it was time for him to transcend.
“We’ve got to go…” His mother was spinning in a circle.
Joshua steepled his hands. “We stay.”
Then, as if his mother saw Stanley for the first time, she hurried over to him and touched his arm. She turned on Joshua. “He’s awake?”
He stared at her blankly.
“Let him go.”
What gave her the right to boss him around? He didn’t answer to her.
He went over to her and gripped her around the neck. Her eyes bulged and she slapped at him, but his hold grew stronger.
“Stop!” Stanley yelled, and Joshua looked him square in the eye as he continued to squeeze. He felt the bones crushing in his mother’s throat.
He closed his eyes, breathing in his power.
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