“I’m thorough. The cost of screwing up this mission is too high.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re personally invested in our target.”
“She’s not our target.”
“Until she leads us to Godfrey she is.”
“Which brings me to a point I was about to raise. Why didn’t we pick up Godfrey had been at the house? He slipped right through our damn fingers.”
Josselin’s gray eyes turned stormy. “It was during a shift change.”
“Why didn’t our satellite pick it up?”
“Like us, he must have diverters in place. It won’t happen again. From now on, the shifts will overlap. No team will leave before the other team is properly installed.”
“He’s playing us.”
“My thoughts exactly, and he’s playing us with his wife.”
“What are you saying?”
“What if he suspects your interest goes beyond professional?”
“Why would he think that?”
“We all do. It’s obvious.”
“I made the rules. I’ll follow them.”
“Will you?” Josselin dropped his arms and took a few steps forward. “I’m all for saving Mrs. Reid, but we can’t allow Godfrey to use her against us.”
“We won’t.”
“Good, because I have a feeling this is our last battle.”
Cain turned back to the painting. “I have a feeling you’re right.” He was aware of Josselin observing him. “Was there anything else?”
“I came to tell you Sky and Ivan are ready for the debriefing.”
He nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
Still, Josselin didn’t leave. “What do you see when you look at that picture?”
“That there’s someone who sees the world exactly as I do.”
“You’re too cultured. That’s why you’re always attracted to poets and painters.”
“Maybe, but I can’t change it if it’s in my making.”
“Cain?”
“Josselin?”
“Please tell me you know what you’re doing. When the team had their doubts, I stood by you. When you went public with the seven arts, I supported you, but the Medusa Movement is getting out of hand. Instead of peace, we’re facing a civil war. Medusa is blaming paranormals for the mass murders taking place around the globe and we have no evidence to prove otherwise. I’m afraid it’s going to blow up in our faces before we have a chance to nail Godfrey.”
“It’ll work out.”
Josselin sighed and pulled a hand over his face. “Sean and Sara are on watch. They’ll stay put until I send in their replacement team.”
“Good.”
“We better go. The rest of the team is waiting.”
They walked to the workroom together where the team members were seated around the table.
Cain took his place and turned to Ivan. “What do you have?”
Ivan’s face was grim. “I communicated with as many spirits as I could. The victims were all attacked from behind. None of them knows who killed them, but they were all butchered in the same fashion with their throats slit.”
“In other words, we don’t know if it was Godfrey for sure,” Cain said. “It could be a ploy from Medusa to create world unrest by making paranormals appear as the culprits, or it could be vampires gone rogue.”
“We need to use Sky.” Clelia looked around the table. “If she can read the palm of someone who’d been at one of the murder scenes it may help.”
“We can’t locate anyone,” Maya said. “The murders were committed in obscure places and the victims were always alone when it happened.”
“This has Godfrey stamped all over it,” Lann said. “Why are we still questioning the identity of the perpetrator?”
Cain unfastened the buttons of his jacket. “Because we need proof.”
“Without proof, the fingers are pointing at us,” Josselin said, “and Godfrey is making a damn good job of advertising it via his communication networks. Every internet provider and news channel is spreading propaganda. People believe Medusa is the savior and that we’re killing humans to drink their blood and eat their organs.”
“There are stories about Joss.” Lann’s eyes sparkled with a momentary twinkle. “The paranormal fan sites say he needs large quantities of blood. They’re relating the murders to him with blood drinking as motive.”
“That’s absurd.” Clelia laid a hand on Josselin’s arm. “That’s not what a bloodsucker is at all.”
“We know that,” Lann replied, “but humans don’t. Right now, every site and magazine is littered with untruths and urban legends.”
“Courtesy of Medusa,” Josselin grumbled.
“Godfrey is here, goddammit.” Cain slammed a hand on the tabletop. “How difficult can it be to catch him?”
“If he’s here, then who’s committing the murders?” Clelia asked.
Maya pulled up a hologram. “We’re running an algorithm that takes variables such as geographical distance and time into consideration to at least try and prevent more murders. We’re putting all law enforcement agencies around the globe on alert with our predictions. All we know so far, is that it’s humanly impossible for one man to have committed all of these killings. They took place over a too vast territory with a too short timespan between crimes.”
“It all comes back to Medusa,” Ivan said, “Cain’s cronies. They’re doing the dirty work while he’s turning into a quantumancist right under our noses.”
“Mrs. Reid is our only feasible chance at catching the bastard.” Josselin spared Cain a fleeting glance.
“He harvests her ovum every month,” Cain said. “She’s certain he’ll be back.”
Everyone spoke at once.
“What?”
“For what purpose?”
“How?”
“Slow down.” Cain raised his hands. “That’s why Godfrey went to the house, yesterday.” The thought alone darkened his soul, making him want to not only kill, but also torture the bastard.
“What do you suggest?” Clelia asked.
“We can’t trust our satellite,” Cain mused. “Godfrey’s proven how easily he can manipulate our feed.”
Sky held Cain’s eyes. “There’s one other alternative.”
“No.” His tone was uncompromising.
“If she reads your palm,” Josselin said, “we’d have an inkling as to where to look for Godfrey.”
“Or not.” Cain shook his head. On this, he wasn’t budging. It would be too easy to lose faith if the future wasn’t playing out as they’d intended. “Olivia is Godfrey’s only weakness. Eventually, he’ll show up there again. We don’t need the future to catch him.”
“Maybe we should vote on it,” Lann suggested.
“No,” Sky said. “I understand Cain’s hesitation. Knowing the future can be demotivating. Besides, it doesn’t always pan out as we see.”
“We have to trust in ourselves.” Cain got to his feet. “That’s all we’ve got.”
The old church was in Providência, on the outskirts of the favela. The exterior needed repairs and the interior could do with a good dusting. Maybe that was why Olivia felt at home in the obscurity of the dirty building. A bright, clean, sunny place would’ve thrown a big spotlight on her sins. At least here she could kneel among the gangsters, thieves, and other criminals. The blood on her hands didn’t scare the priest away from taking her confession, because the kind of people who came here were all guilty of similar sins. She walked down the aisle, her heels calling out her path. The sound bounced off the walls in the acoustic space. Today, it was a lonelier sound than usual, even if she was always the only worshipper at the hour of noon. Other people were working or getting ready to have lunch, which is why she chose this time. Shifting into the confessional, she sat down on the bench.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Hello, Olivia.”
“You’re not supposed to recognize me.
”
“Well, I do,” Father Lourenço scoffed. “You’d rather I lie and pretend I don’t know who sits on the other side of the partition?”
“Of course not, but you’re not supposed to admit it.”
“What difference does it make?”
“None, I suppose.”
“Then go ahead and confess your sins. I’d like to watch the football at half past twelve.”
A laugh stole from her chest. Bless his soul. He always knew how to lighten a mood. “Aren’t you supposed to ask how long it’s been since my last confession?”
“It’s a mundane question. I know how long it’s been. You can fast-forward through all that to the sins.”
“All right. Where do I start?”
“How about Monday? Then you can move down the days of the week.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” she chastised.
“I know. It was a joke,” he replied drily.
“Fine. Monday. On Monday, I committed adultery with a stranger.”
“Did you use protection?”
“He didn’t…” she coughed, “penetrate me as such. Well, he did, but he used his hand.”
“Even a stray thought of desiring someone other than your husband is adultery. It doesn’t matter to which level you took it––mentally or physically. You cheated. Why couldn’t you resist the temptation?”
“Have you ever felt like it was the last day of your life?”
“All the time. Mm, I see what you mean. Go on.”
“On Tuesday, I was more than a willing partner.”
“Are we still on the subject of the adultery?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I get it. It happened more than once. Let’s get a move on. What other sins are bothering you?”
“I’m responsible for people’s deaths.”
“Did you kill them?”
“No.”
“Did you pay someone to kill them?”
“No.”
“Did you wish them dead?”
“No.”
“You take too much blame for the wrong of the world on your shoulders. Anyway, God will forgive you. Go on.”
“I hate my husband.”
“Hate is not an emotion conducive to Christians. Does he mistreat you?”
“Sometimes. This week, he hurt me physically. Mostly, it’s emotional.”
“Even though divorce is a sin in the eyes of God, God doesn’t want you to stay with an abusive husband. If he doesn’t deserve you, you should leave him.”
“It’s not that simple. He won’t let me go.”
“Try counseling. Let a professional talk to him.”
She shifted on the bench. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving. I can’t.” Not while Godfrey had families killed every time she tried to run. “There’s more.”
He sighed. “Carry on.”
“It’s your job to listen to me, you know.”
“The football is starting in a few minutes. Can you hurry this along?”
“All right, all right. I’m considering something awful, something really, really dark.”
“Okay, what I’m going to tell you now is not the official standpoint of the church, but my personal opinion. Masturbating is not so bad.”
“Please, be serious for once.”
“Sorry. Just for the record, I was serious.”
“I’m talking about evil. Demented. Think Frankenstein.”
“Are you engaging in forbidden spiritual practices like fortunetelling?”
“I mean raising the dead.”
“Olivia, are you on drugs?”
“Father, if you could bring back someone you loved dearly from the dead, would you do it?”
“Ah, you mean theoretically speaking? Is this a theological debate?”
“Let’s say it is. What will your answer be?”
“That God is the only creator of life, and that it would be wrong for us to meddle in his great plan.”
“But say it was possible. Say someone gave you the choice to bring back your dead wife. Would you do it?”
He leaned closer to the partition. In the silence that suspended the church in a bubble of quiet amidst the chaos of the city, she could hear the laboring of Father Lourenço’s chain smoker’s breath. She could hear the creak of a bench as the wood expanded, and the flapping of wings as a dove rose from a windowsill to the heavens.
“Olivia…” His voice was pained, his tone cautious. “That’s a door you should best leave closed. You may not like what lies behind.”
“What lies behind?”
“Paradise, or hell. You do not want to bring back a spirit from either.”
“Isn’t earth better than hell?”
“If you open the door of hell, you’ll unleash Satan’s demons on earth.” He paused. “Why are you asking this question?”
She couldn’t confess the truth. A truth of this magnitude would put the dear old priest’s life at risk. “Just things that are mulling around in my head.”
“Shut out these thoughts,” he said on an urgent whisper. “If you ask me, Satan is knocking on the door of your heart. Don’t let him in. Turn your thoughts to other things. Like masturbation, for example. This sounds too much like everything that’s going on with this Medusa Movement, and I do not like it.”
She shivered, recalling the pictures Cain had showed her. It was all over the media and internet, now. Medusa blamed paranormals for the killings.
“Don’t get involved,” he urged, his tone more hushed. “The end of the world is near, and the path is narrow and difficult. Don’t veer from the path, my child. Don’t give in to the devil’s bribes. Luke twenty-one, verse thirty-six says, ‘But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.’”
She pressed her hands together. “Will you pray for me?”
“May God keep you from the darkness of your thoughts. May he give you strength to resist the tempting of Satan. Jesus gave his blood for our sins to be forgiven. Go forth and sin no more.”
She made the sign of the cross. “Thank you, Father.”
“I’m not sure you’re welcome.”
As she exited the booth, his voice stopped her.
“There are people who will kill you for what you said. Be careful, Olivia. Don’t mention to anyone what you’ve asked me today.”
Before venturing back into the stark light of reality, she lifted the veil from her head and stuffed it in her purse. She walked to her car with troubled thoughts. She wasn’t Catholic or especially religious, but the lonely church with its uncomfortable confessional gave her a measure of peace and sanity when it was hard to muster either from her crazy world. She didn’t know if she truly believed in God, but she did believe in good and bad. She believed in her conscience and the way it warned her whenever she crossed a line. This time, her reliable conscience had failed her. Right now, she had no idea what was right or wrong. Committing sin with Cain was every right that had ever gone wrong in her life. When she was with him, it was like spending an hour in the cool absolution of the church. Her burdens felt lighter and, like a metaphorical resurrection, the deadness of her body came to life.
Godfrey was a devil and that Cain wanted to stop him resonated with the conscience she wanted to trust. She’d finally be free. However, could she choose between helping Cain to kill her husband and having back her child? If Adam was given to her as a baby, it would be like going back in time. She wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes of the past. She’d spoil him less and instill better morals in him while he was young. He’d grow up a better man. If she’d fail him as a parent, Godfrey was offering her a chance at making it right. Whatever Godfrey’s warped reasons, this would be for Adam. Then again, she’d seen the mangled bodies of those poor, innocent people. How many candles had she lit for families murdered in cold blood over the years?
She’d given Cain her word. What was she sup
posed to do? How could she choose between killing the man who kept her a prisoner and killed on her behalf, and having a second chance with the son who died before his life had truly begun?
Cain let himself into Olivia’s house. It was broad daylight. Sara had informed him that Olivia was at the church. From watching her, he knew she’d spend a couple of hours there, which gave him plenty of time. Without knowing Olivia’s thoughts, there was no way of trusting her. He couldn’t give his team the reassurance they deserved. For how much longer could he trust himself around her before her mysterious spell made him betray himself, his mission, and worse, his daughter and the team? He was becoming besotted with her. When she smiled, his world seemed brighter. If he could, he’d watch her until the end of time. It was worth every second. She made him feel alive. She reminded him there were other things to live for than his job. More beautiful things.
He’d broken into her body with seduction. He’d broken into her house by force. If she wouldn’t let him into her mind, it was time to break into her studio. Looking at her paintings gave him insight into her head. The more he studied the painting he’d bought, the more he glimpsed into her soul.
Donning his gloves, he moved around the house with the practiced skill of a thief. If Godfrey were surveying the house, which he was without a doubt, he’d surely check for fingerprints on a regular basis. At the door that led to her studio, he paused. Breaking into her artistic space was despicable. It was like reading someone’s diary, but so was reading someone’s thoughts. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
The lock was easy to pick. It took him three seconds to open the door. For a moment, he stood on the threshold, doing nothing but absorbing the energy. It felt sacred being in the space where someone of her genius converted the physical mediums of paint and canvas into raw emotion. He’d admired this part of Clara, his ex-wife, as much as he’d loved her for all her insecurities. Besides the miracle of a man and woman making a new life together, artistic creation was the next highest achievement, at least in his opinion.
Shutting down all his conscious thoughts, he focused on his senses. The smell of paint was plastic. It exploded in visual ribbons of color in his brain, thinned by the chemical odor of turpentine. Wood polish surfaced in the bouquet of perfumes. The window was large, letting in a waterfall of sunlight that tumbled over the windowsill and spilled over the floor. A shelf held rows of paint tubes neatly organized by color. Brushes in all sizes were arranged like wildflowers in a jar. In the center of the hardwood floor stood an easel. The canvas was covered with a white sheet, either for protection from dust or from curious eyes. Paintings were stacked on the floor along the walls, all of them covered with white sheets. It didn’t come as a surprise that Olivia kept the space so tidy. Everything about her was organized and meticulous, curious characteristics for an artist.
Man (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 9) Page 11