A God in the Shed

by J-F. Dubeau

  “Her name is something Hazelwood. She’s set up at the station.”

  “The station, you say? Well, you’ve been a great help, Dan.” Hagen produced a business card and passed it over. “If you could give that to your dad, I’d be grateful. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

  Chris Hagen strolled back down the driveway, hands in his pockets and still apparently unbothered by the scorching summer heat. Finally looking at the card, Dan noticed an odd but familiar symbol at the corner: an hourglass with wings. While trying to put his finger on where he’d seen it before, another mystery dawned on him. Turning back to the now-distant reporter, he yelled: “Hey! Chris! How did you know my name was Dan?”

  Hagen either didn’t hear, or he intentionally ignored him. Either way, a second later he was gone.

  RANDY

  RANDY MCKENZIE WALKED under the yellow plastic ribbon that cordoned off the crime scene. Already he could smell the distinct stench of rotting flesh in the air and reached into his pocket for a pair of latex gloves. He had no doubt that they would come in handy soon.

  The scene before him was a nightmare. Quite easily the most gruesome spectacle the medical examiner had ever laid eyes on, and that was saying a lot. If this turned out to be a murder, and there was very little chance it wasn’t, it would be the bloodiest in Saint-Ferdinand’s history.

  The doctor found Crowley in a trance, standing over a pulpy chunk of the body, his eyes locked in quiet revulsion on the hundreds of flies that had settled in the victim’s exposed chest cavity. There was obviously a lot going on behind his eyes at that moment. Randy didn’t cherish the idea of increasing the inspector’s burden, but he would be remiss not to tell him what he knew. Sooner rather than later.

  “I hope your little friend has a strong stomach, Randy.”

  “Erica? I think she can handle this.” The medical examiner waved his arm in a slow arc, signifying the insane carnage all around them. “Though I don’t necessarily think she should have to.”

  “Too bad. I need someone to talk to the LaForest girl.”

  “She doesn’t need to see the—Wait, this is Gabrielle LaForest?” Randy turned green and lost his balance. For a moment he was convinced he would lose his lunch as well, but somehow he kept his gag reflex under control. Gabrielle LaForest was the mother of his niece’s friend, but she was also a relatively close acquaintance of his. She had helped him with the paperwork when he sold his house in Saint-Ferdinand and moved to Sherbrooke to work at the university. It was one thing to see a human body in this condition, and another to find the corpse of a friend. But the two combined was a difficult pill to swallow even for someone as experienced with death as Randy.

  “How did you identify . . .”

  “Her wallet,” explained Crowley.

  “What was it? A bear?” The question felt hollow, grasping at straws.

  “God dammit, Randy, you know damn well it wasn’t a bear. We both know what did this.”

  The doctor did know. Just from the sheer volume of violence on display, no animal could have done this. Blood was absolutely everywhere. The ground was sodden with it. Tree trunks were painted red in large splatters. There seemed to be enough to fill the veins of three people the size of Gabrielle. Large sheets of skin were stretched across the ground. Organs lay in ruin, strewn across the forest floor with odd-looking lumps of bloody flesh. Only her intestines had remained intact. Those had been hung from the branches above like a grotesque garland. At the foot of a particularly massive maple tree, most of Gabrielle’s bones, including her flayed skull, were gathered in a bloody pile. A butcher had committed this atrocity, and had done so with impudence and barbaric yet deliberate care.

  “We’re having a meeting tonight, Randy. I want you there.” Crowley’s eyes were still fixed on the mass of flies covering the bloody sternum like a writhing blanket.

  The doctor knew what kind of meeting Crowley was talking about. He wanted no part of that sort of gathering. Randy had always considered himself an outsider. A neutral party.

  “No. I’ve done what I could.”

  “You can’t ignore this kind of thing, McKenzie. You’re part of it.”

  “Exactly,” Randy said, adamant. Crowley was surprised by the sudden display of spinal fortitude. “You think I have power over this? I’m more at risk than any of you.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “What do you expect me to do, Stephen? Show up at church, say a little prayer, and then tell you there’s a magic spell that will stop all of this?”

  Crowley turned to look the medical examiner square in the eyes. For a second, Randy wasn’t sure if Stephen would hit him for daring to refuse. Thankfully, the larger man seemed more preoccupied by other matters.

  “You’ve always known more than you let on. Now more than ever, every little piece of information counts.” Crowley started to nervously scratch the back of his thick neck. “We’re well past the time for holding back.”

  “The best I can do is try to find someone actually qualified to help.” Randy crouched down to take a closer look at the remains. “That would have been a lot easier to do if you hadn’t chased all the Craftsmen from town. Hell, maybe Finnegan knew what he was doing after all.”

  “Are you going to start defending that monster now?” Crowley growled.

  “Monster? Look around you; this is just the beginning. There’s no bargaining with it anymore. You need to get your shit together and find another solution. Sam probably saved more lives by keeping that thing—”

  “Oh God . . .”

  The voice came from a few yards behind them. Had it not been for the stillness of the forest and the reverential silence the rest of Crowley’s staff were exhibiting, neither would have heard the swallowed outcry. As one, they turned to see Erica Hazelwood walking carefully among the debris that had once been a woman.

  “Erica . . . ,” began Randy, almost panicked. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  But the psychologist kept walking silently toward the two men, a hand firmly covering her mouth, as if stifling a scream. She stepped carefully, making sure her feet did not touch any of the bits of flesh and viscera that littered the ground.

  “Well, Ms. Hazelwood, you wanted to be involved in the investigation process,” Crowley said with questionable tact.

  Erica did a double take but kept calm. “You’re right, inspector. I’m sorry for my . . . outburst.” She kept all traces of being shaken from her voice. “You must admit: this isn’t your average set of remains, is it?”

  Crowley nodded his agreement, taking another long look around. “No. It sure isn’t. How’s that for depersonalizing a victim?” asked the inspector, not expecting an answer.

  “Stephen . . . ,” Randy warned, a weak attempt at being the knight in shining armor.

  “It’s okay, Randy. He’s got a point. I think this goes far beyond depersonalization,” she said to the inspector. “If I’d have to venture a guess, I’d say it was a cult killing.”

  Crowley and McKenzie looked at each other for a moment, neither admitting to the irony of her statement.

  “I mean, look at this scene,” explained Erica. “This killing obviously had a ritualistic element to it. The pile of bones, the stretching of the skin, the hanging of organs. It’s like the Manson murders on speed. Are the eyes still in the skull?”

  “No,” answered the inspector. “Both were pulled out of their sockets and crushed.” He pointed to a bloody pile of leaves at the foot of a slender birch tree marked with a small yellow flag, where what remained of the eyes had been found.

  “Whoever the killer is, he had plans for almost every part of his victim. The eyes are destroyed, where Sam had preserved his victims’. The body is obliterated, where Finnegan had kept those he killed neatly in freezers.”

  “You think there’s a connection?” asked Randy, though he and the inspector already knew the answer.

  “I’d be surprised if there weren’t,” said Erica. “Maybe the inspector is
right. Maybe Sam had an accomplice. Maybe he had many.”

  “I don’t think Sam was working alone, Ms. Hazelwood,” Crowley said. “But I think it’s a stretch to say he was part of an organized cult.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Erica asked with overt suspicion. “Considering the nature of the murders and the condition of these remains, I can name several experts who would agree with my recommendation. Randy, you know I’m right about—”

  “I hear your concerns, Ms. Hazelwood,” Crowley cut in, “but I know the residents of this village personally. A pair of murderers is hard enough to imagine. Look, I’ll have Matt see what he can find about cult activity. In the meantime, I have another job for you. Talk to the victim’s daughter, if you don’t mind.”

  Without another word, Crowley turned and started on his way back to the road. Randy was quick to hobble behind him, leaving Erica to stand in the middle of the field of horrors.

  “Weren’t you a little hard on her?” he asked the inspector.

  “Your ‘girlfriend’ is asking a lot of uncomfortable questions, Randy. You don’t want to come to our meeting? Fine. Here’s your new homework: you keep her out of my hair. Unless you want to explain to her the finer points of who the Craftsmen are and what you do in your spare time at the morgue.”

  “Threats, Stephen?”

  “How’d you put it? This is just the beginning.”

  With those words, Crowley stormed off in the direction of some of his officers.

  Randy McKenzie looked back at his friend. Dr. Hazelwood was leaning down next to a tree and studying an object on the ground. It had been a mistake, bringing her in on this case. Randy had wanted an opportunity to work with Erica again and hopefully give her the opportunity of a lifetime working on a unique case. This was the stuff careers were made of, but it was beginning to sink in that it was also how lives were lost.

  This wasn’t just a chance at professional advancement. There was real danger here, and Erica was that much more at risk for not knowing it.

  As Randy observed her, both worrying and admiring, he noticed something peculiar about the item his friend was looking at: a soft-looking brown object with a shock of red on top. It looked perhaps like some piece of flesh that had found its way onto a chunk of wood. However, there was something familiar about it.

  Thinking no one was looking, Dr. Hazelwood reached down and picked up the item. At that moment, Randy recognized it for what it was. His skin grew cold, and he was so overwhelmed with shock that he failed to acknowledge the potentially illegal breach of protocol his protégé was committing.

  Not only did she touch the piece of evidence, Erica snuck it into her purse. Normally, Randy would have intervened, reminding her of the consequences of what she was doing, but he couldn’t.

  What Erica Hazelwood had stolen from this crime scene didn’t exist anymore. Or rather, it should be unattainable. Out of reach of any mortal. Yet there it was: a brown stuffed toy with a red felt hat stitched to its head.

  VENUS

  THEY SHOWED UP midafternoon. Inspector Crowley, Lieutenant Bélanger, and that woman from out of town who, as far as Venus knew, was helping out with Old Man Finnegan’s case. Calmly, they asked everyone to leave the ice cream parlor except for the new woman and Penny, who turned as white as a sheet. At first, Venus thought they were there to reveal that Sam had confessed to killing her best friend’s dad. A lot of people had been getting these kinds of visits over the last two weeks. Usually Lieutenant Bélanger handled it, but he wasn’t the best candidate for giving a teenage girl that sort of grim news.

  But this was about more than Penny’s father. That much became clear as Venus and Abraham heard their friend bellow a gut-wrenching cry of distilled anguish as they were led from the shop.

  Abraham dropped his milk shake as the truth of the situation dawned on him. Something must be wrong with Mrs. LaForest.

  “Inspector Crowley? What’s happening?” asked Abraham in the hope of getting a better picture of the situation.

  “We found the body of Penny’s mom in the forest this morning,” answered Lieutenant Bélanger, straight-faced.

  “Matt!” admonished Crowley upon seeing the shock and distress on the two teens’ faces.

  The lieutenant shrugged apologetically.

  “Look, guys. Lack of tact aside, what Lieutenant Bélanger said is right.” He paused to let the news sink in. Crowley made it a point to know most of the people in town. He was aware that Venus and Abe weren’t idiots, and hoped he could count on them to be levelheaded. Venus kept staring, wide-eyed, but Abraham nodded steadily.

  “All right, son,” the inspector continued, putting a hand on the bear-framed teen’s shoulder. “It’s clear we have a situation to take care of. I need you two to keep your mouths shut and wait here. Ms. Hazelwood’s gonna have a talk with Penny, but when she’s done . . .”

  “We have to be there for her,” Venus finished in a quiet voice.

  “Right. You guys can handle that? Don’t leave your friend alone, and do what Ms. Hazelwood tells you.”

  “We’re on it, sir,” said Abraham.

  Crowley nodded at Bélanger to follow him, and they left the teens behind. Without a word, Venus and Abraham backed up to the ice cream shop, while curious villagers stared in their direction. Christine Bowler, a girl from Penny’s class who had been about to walk into the shop when the inspector showed up, approached the two friends who were silently leaning on the trailer. She was a tall, athletic girl with a stern face and a permanently humorless expression.

  “What’s that all about, then?” she asked once within earshot.

  “Store’s closed, Christine. Something happened to Penny’s mom,” Abraham said.

  “Shut up, Abe,” Venus cut in. “We’re not supposed to tell.”

  “S’all right. I won’t babble around. So what happened?” Christine continued, hungering for good gossip.

  “We . . . don’t know,” Abraham tried to explain, his eyes darting back and forth between the two girls, measuring Venus’s level of irritation.

  As Abe continued to make excuses, Venus’s attention shifted to a spot across the street. After a moment, she pushed herself off the wall and, without a word, walked toward her target: Chris Hagen, still wearing his crisp business suit, was sitting at a coffee shop table with a large glass of lemonade. His sunglasses sat on top of his stylishly unkempt hair, and his soft blue eyes locked on to Venus. She stood before him, her hands on her hips. He smiled at her, bringing the glass to his lips.

  “You spend a lot of time staring at teenagers, or are we special?” Venus asked defiantly.

  “Huh. I have been spending an unusual amount of time talking to kids over the past two days,” he answered, as if coming to the realization himself. “That must come off as a little creepy.”

  “It comes off as very creepy.” She sat down opposite the man without knowing why. “Have you considered a different hobby?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s part of my job to observe. You and your boyfriend looked distraught.” He closed a small weathered notebook and slipped it into his jacket pocket, but not before she noticed the strange spiral patterns sketched onto the cover.

  “Don’t bait me,” she responded. “I’ve met creeps like you before. You don’t impress me.”

  “Oh, a city girl, then?” The man leaned over the table, his eyes drilling into hers. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I was just . . . curious. After all, I’m pretty sure the whole street heard your friend Penny cry out earlier. Can’t blame me for taking an interest, but you . . . What are you doing here talking to me?” Hagen jerked his chin in the direction of the shop. The front door was ajar. The psychologist was talking to Abraham, who pointed in Venus’s direction, a confused look on his face.

  Hagen took another sip of lemonade. “You’ll want to be there for your friend in her darkest hour, Ms. McKenzie.”

  Venus stood up and ran back to the shop. She didn’t bother saying good-bye.


  “What was that all about?” asked Abraham when she got close.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Venus glanced toward the coffee shop, seeing Hagen jot a quick note in his book before standing and leaving. “I just saw him sitting there and . . . There’s something gross about the guy. Like, this was all his fault somehow?”

  “Venus McKenzie?” a woman interrupted. Venus recognized her from the day of Audrey’s funeral. “I’m Dr. Erica Hazelwood. May I have a word with you?”

  “I’d rather talk to Penny,” Venus said.

  “In a moment. I understand you and Penny are very close?”

  Venus nodded. They’d only known each other for a year and a half, but the girls had latched on to each other like two halves of a whole. Their differences, and the fact that Penny seemed incapable of tolerating most other people her age, had made the teens inseparable.

  “Good,” continued Erica. “I’ve already talked to her, and I’ll be meeting with her once a day for the next little while. But right now she needs friends, and every ounce of support you can give her.”

  “Can I see her now?” asked Venus after a moment.

  Erica stepped out of the doorway and let the girl rush in.

  Penny was sitting at the counter. Her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks were wet with tears. She stared into the distance, only half-aware of her friend’s presence.

  “Turns out, she didn’t stand me up the other day.” Penny sniffled. They both knew what this meant. At the very same time she’d been complaining about her parental issues, Penny’s mother had been lying in the forest, dead.

  Both girls stood in silence for a few moments. Venus was no stranger to awkward and uncomfortable situations, yet she didn’t know how to handle herself. The whole situation was too surreal. It felt like at any moment she would wake up, and things would be back to normal. She knew this wasn’t a dream and that she should go to her friend and hold her, hear her cries, listen to her rage against a universe that would so callously take away both of her parents. Yet she couldn’t move. It was as if acknowledging the situation would make it real.