by Matthew Boyd
Lunkster yelled behind them, “I’ll send rescue and have a couple of patrol units go with you to the church! Don’t let this asshole get away!”
Jake popped the trunk of the cruiser started rifling through it. Inside was a toolbox that held basic bomb disposal tools and a pump-action twelve gauge shotgun. He took out both and tossed them into the back seat. Jake then flung the driver’s side door open on the old silver cruiser and wrenched the transmission shifter into drive. Two marked WPD patrol cars accelerated and passed them with a loud swoosh, headed to the church.
“Damn. That was fast,” Jake said as he watched the vehicles move down the road, already several hundred feet past them.
Stacey had barely even gotten inside and closed the door when he jerked the wheel all the way to the left and peeled out in spectacular fashion. The church wasn’t more than a mile away, all the way around a giant “U” that formed Birch Landing Road. The engine roared loudly and Jake flipped on the siren as they tore down the residential street at breakneck speed.
“He must have run right through the woods to the church. Son of a bitch,” Jake yelled, angry and holding the steering wheel in a death grip with both hands.
Stacey placed one hand on the dashboard to steady herself and pulled out her pistol with the other. In the rearview, she could see members of the SWAT team exiting the house and piling up into the van before they disappeared around the curve. The units in front of them skidded through the curve, leaving long black marks on the road.
Within moments, Saint Paul’s Catholic Church appeared on the horizon. As they came closer, Jake steered the car up and over the curb and into the grassy front lawn, bouncing them up and down and tearing muddy ruts across it with the car’s spinning wheels. The patrol cars had already come to a halt at the front entrance and the officers were stepping out. Jake once again jerked the steering wheel hard and slammed on brakes, sending the car into a fishtail and past the parked patrol cars until it stopped completely with a loud bang, crashing hard enough into the giant brick stairway at the front of the church to buckle the rear door of the vehicle.
An old man wearing a light brown coat and carrying a bible ran towards them from the parking lot, waving his arms frantically, shouting, “He’s got Father Douglas in there! He’s got a gun!”
The two patrol officers ran in first, guns at the ready.
Stacey had her door open first and was the next closest to the church. She took the steps two at a time, with her gun drawn and pointed down. Just as she placed her hand on the handle a loud explosion rocked the entire church, blowing out the stained-glass windows and blasting open the front doors, flinging her backwards through the air.
Jake ducked for cover behind the brick staircase, closing his eyes tightly and protecting his head with his arms. The old man opened his mouth in surprise and hit the dirt, also covering himself with his hands. Stacey skittered across the hood of the car and landed behind it on the grass, lying on her side. Little pieces of debris showered them both. Dust and smoke poured out of the church in heavy, thick brown and grey clouds.
Jake crawled over to his partner on his hands and knees, his eyes and lungs burning from the thick smoke.
“Oh, no! Stacey! Stacey! Are you ok? Say something…” he said, checking her over for wounds and shaking her lightly.
Stacey moaned and started to come around. She shifted around and squinted her eyes at him, wiping a dirty hand through her hair and placing it on the side of her forehead. She pushed herself up carefully to a seating position, extended out her legs painfully, and leaned back on both hands, like a tired child. Her face was cut and bleeding from a few minor injuries. Her pants were shredded and soaked with blood on one leg, where a huge chunk of the door that was forced outward in the explosion spiraled across and fractured her tibia. She was covered nearly head to toe in black soot and dust and breathing in rapid, short gasps of air.
Stacey reached across her chest with one hand and pressed on her ribs. She dipped her head, frowned and uttered a painful cry. Two of her ribs had been broken.
“Ow. Oh yeah. That’s broken,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I’m just glad you are alive,” Jake said, “Just imagine how bad it could have been if you didn’t have on your vest.”
“Never leave home without it,” she said, attempting to struggle to her feet.
Jake bent down and helped her up. Stacey scooped up her dropped firearm and placed it securely back in the holster. She grimaced as she tried to plant her left leg, and was unable to do it.
“Mmmm…damn that hurts…I think my leg’s broken too, Jake,” she said, feebly hopping on one foot over to the side of the debris covered cruiser. She rested against it, trying not to let the foot on her injured leg touch the ground. She lifted her head and looked around, surveying the destruction.
“Jake! Where are the two officers that ran in before me?!” Stacey said excitedly.
Realizing that the patrol officers had been inside when the bomb went off, Jake tore off up the stairs and entered the main foyer of the chapel. The doors had been blown right off their hinges, and various shattered bits of wood and metal shrapnel covered the floor. He could not see more than a few feet in front of him as smoke continued to pour out, reducing visibility.
He found the two officers lying face down next to each other just inside the chapel. They appeared to be severely burned and bleeding. They weren’t moving and he couldn’t be sure they were even breathing. He grabbed their ankles with both hands and lunged his bodyweight forward, straining with every ounce of his strength to drag them out of the chapel and onto the front stairs.
Finally outside again, Jake nearly collapsed from the effort, but made it down the stairs and moved over to the old man, who was still lying on the ground with his hands over his head. He tapped the man hard on the back with his hands and assisted him up. The man looked to be every bit of ninety years old. His thick eyeglasses had been cracked and the frames were bent. He had on red suspenders that held his pants up across his belly. Some of the flying wreckage had wound up in his hair and across the back of his jacket, but he seemed more shaken than injured.
“Sir! Are you alright? Stand up!”
“Merciful God!” the old man cried out to Jake. “What has happened to our church?”
“We think it was a bomb, sir! Are you able to walk?”
“Yep, think so, son. My names Herbert, by the way.”
Herbert got to his feet and started moving. Jake placed his hand on the man’s back and escorted him over to the cruiser. Opening the back door, he helped him sit down. An ambulance rolled up just then, with the sirens still blaring as they braked and parked several yards away from the now burning church. Two uniformed paramedics jumped out of the ambulance with orange bags and quickly ran over to Jake’s cruiser.
“C’mon, we gotta get you guys out of here. The whole chapel is on fire,” one of the paramedics said, “Are any of you injured?”
Stacey raised her hand slightly and winced in pain, grabbing the left side of her ribs.
“I am, but its ok. Some broken ribs I think, and my leg is probably broken, but I can deal with it.”
Jake motioned to the two downed officers that he had dragged away from the church after the explosion and said, “I’m not sure about these guys. They got burned pretty badly. Get them out of here first, guys.”
“I can’t believe it,” Stacey said to Jake with a frown, “Engel got away again. Maybe he stole a car and high-tailed it. He could be anywhere by now.”
“Hey! Hey!” Herbert shouted over the din of the now fully-involved inferno, “The guy you’re looking for never came out of the church. He either – “ Herbert suddenly put his fist up to his face and coughed loudly as the smoke started to blow down on their position and overtake them. The wind had shifted directions and heavy drops of rain began to fall. The paramedics took the patrol officers out of harm’s way and began sliding them over to backboards for transport to the hosp
ital. Everyone moved hastily towards the parking lot to get away from the smoke and fire.
Once they cleared the area, Herbert caught his breath, sat down in his truck, and continued, “That guy, I…well, I wasn’t paying much attention when he walked in, but I saw him get in the confession booth. Started making a bunch of noise in there, banging around or something. He fired a gun and I ran. Hid behind my car over there in the parking lot. I never saw him come out, and then you guys showed up.” He pointed his finger from the detectives to the church as he spoke. “He’s either in there burning or he went into the fellowship hall. “
Jake glanced over at the rear of the burning church. Indeed, there was a long hallway that seemed to attach to the chapel and run into a plain, rectangular building off to the side of the property. It was not yet engulfed in flames, but the fire was spreading rapidly.
Without a second thought, Jake dashed across the huge parking lot and toward the fellowship hall. It had to be at least a quarter-mile long stretch of asphalt. The rain was falling faster now and the heavy drops smacked against his face, refreshing yet distracting at the same time. Jake’s shoes clapped loudly against the pavement with each stride. He could hear Stacey yelling out something behind him, but her words were lost in the noise of the ambulance sirens and roaring fire that was emanating from the partially collapsed roof of the church chapel.
Chapter 14
As Jake approached the building he could only see one entrance, a plain white set of double doors with smooth silver knobs. When he reached the doors, Jake grabbed the handles and turned, only to discover that the doors were locked. Unwilling to stop now, he took a step back and kicked as hard as he could. The doors shook with each kick, rattling in their frame. After a few more tries, the lock finally failed and the doors breeched open with a splintering crack.
Jake placed his weapon in both hands and cautiously entered. Swirls of smoke had already traveled down the long hallway and had begun to fill the room. No lights were on and even though the windows were open, it was very dim inside. He looked to his right and then his left.
Down the hallway, he could see the rapidly approaching orange glow of a raging fire. Long purple drapes were hanging on either side of each window. Tables and chairs were lined up, always in place and ready to serve a hungry post-service afternoon crowd. A plain-looking brown piano was shoved into the corner and next to it was an American flag on a big brass stand. Sheet music for “Hail Redeemer King Divine” had been propped up above the keys. The harsh scent of smoke filled Jake’s nostrils.
In the parking lot, Stacey tried desperately to limp forward after her partner. He had already vanished into the building far ahead of her and she was only halfway across the parking lot. She struggled, nearly to the point of tears from pain, but kept moving. Smoke had begun to pour out through the top of the broken doorframe. Within minutes the fellowship hall would also be burning. The building seemed to be miles away. Struggling to catch up to her partner, Stacey’s feet tangled up and she fell, scraping her palms against the hard road and tiny bits of gravel and dirt that seemed to dust every inch of it.
Just then, Stacey heard the unmistakable sound of squealing brakes as an older-model pickup truck pulled up beside her. She looked up, and to her surprise, saw Herbert driving.
“Come on and get in, already, girl,” he said to her with a half-smile. “I can get you there faster.”
Stacey brushed her bloodied hands off on her pants, hobbled around to the passenger side and climbed in, slamming the door behind her.
Carefully stalking around, Jake could find no trace of Henry. The entire room seemed empty, and other than the noise of the fire drawing ever closer, he could hear nothing. Jake looked under the tables and then behind the piano. Peeking over the small counter that led to the kitchen area, Jake saw only pots and pans hanging from hooks and stainless steel appliances. He was about to give up when he spotted the king chess piece resting on a small stool next to one of the back windows. He walked over to it and carefully picked it up. Twirling it in his hand, he felt its surprisingly heavy weight before placing it in his pocket.
Jake looked up, startled, as something crashed into the piano and made unmelodic musical notes ring out. He turned around swiftly, aiming his weapon in the general direction of the piano. On the floor next to it laid a silver candle snuffer. Something suddenly pressed against him from behind, causing him to lose his balance and pushing him to the floor. As he fell against the cold floor of the fellowship hall, the grip of his pistol cracked against it and broke free from his hands, bouncing underneath one of the fold-up dining tables. Henry had been hiding behind one of the long curtains and was now on top of him.
Jake struggled, ready to fight, but froze when he heard the distinctive click of the hammer being pulled back on a revolver and felt the barrel jam against the side of his head.
“We have to stop meeting like this, Jake,” Henry said as he began to forcefully pull Jake up off the floor by his bulletproof vest, maintaining the position of his revolver with his other hand.
Jake elected not to reply, instead focusing on the gun against his head and the fire that had already made it down the hallway. It was now setting the ceiling of the fellowship hall ablaze.
Henry wrapped one powerful arm around Jake’s neck to keep him from escaping or attempting to wrestle away the gun. His arm was sweaty and covered with grit, which rubbed painfully against the rope wounds from their last encounter. Reflections danced across the walls of the room, shining through the windows in front of the building, like the headlights of a car pulling up. Jake could hear car doors closing and the sound of rain now pounding heavily on the roof. He attempted to struggle against Henry’s grip, but was unable to break free. With one swift motion, Henry slammed the butt of the revolver into the back of Jake’s head. He saw stars for a second and nearly passed out.
Henry yanked back his arm, increasing his choke on Jake, and playfully said, “The old silent treatment, huh? That’s fine, detective. I don’t want to hear your voice anyway. Where’s your partner, huh? I know she’s here.”
Entering through the kicked-in front door with her gun drawn in front of her, Stacey turned away from the intense heat of the fire and saw Jake and Henry immediately. She pointed her weapon at Henry and commanded, “Drop your weapon and let him go, Engel! It’s over!”
“Speak of the devil,” Henry whispered into Jake’s ear, and then yelled across the room to Stacey, “It’s over, all right! But I suggest you do what I say if you want your partner here to see another day!”
Stacey dared not flinch. She kept her aim steady and replied, “What do you want, Henry? Revenge for being treated like a psychotic freak?”
“I want you to put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger,” Henry said, his eyes full of hatred. “I want to watch your expression as you fail. You deserve to die after what you did to me. Just like all the others.”
Strafing around the tables and navigating away from the spreading fire, Stacey crept closer to Henry. She was desperate to find a good angle to get off a shot.
“That’s close enough, Detective King. I’m not stupid you know. After all, you’re here aren’t you? My final piece, my checkmate. My king.”
She stopped her advance but maintained her aim.
“All those years of torture. You did that to me, you know. Father locked me in the basement and told me I could come out when I could beat him. Well, I did it. I beat all of them.”
Stacey replied with a shout, “I didn’t do anything to you. I was just a little girl, Henry. Just let Jake go and…and we can get you some help.”
“It’s too late for that now. They tried to help me before. Fuck help.”
Stacey looked down the sights on her pistol and said, “Just let him go. I’m not playing your game.”
“Shoot him Stacey!” Jake yelled, and attempted to upset Henry’s balance unsuccessfully.
Henry’s face twisted into a contortion of pure, mindless evil.<
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“I told you to put the gun in your mouth, bitch!” Henry shouted, and pulled the trigger on his revolver. The bullet tore through Jake’s scalp, and ricocheted off the wall and into the floor. Jake screamed loudly, hurt, but still alive. Blood streamed from the wound and spilled down over his face and into Henry’s arm.
“Do it now or the next one goes through his brain,” Henry said, cocking back the hammer on his gun again and placing it firmly back beside Jake’s temple.
The ceiling was now completely covered with rolling, licking flames. Pieces of tile and ashes began to fall down around them. Any second the curtains would go up and then they would all be burned alive.
Henry walked backwards towards the doors, shielding himself with Jake. The room was becoming so hot that several objects near the hallway spontaneously burst into flames. A large chunk of tile crashed loudly across one of the tables, spreading the fire and throwing up floating hot embers into the air. Stacey blinked her eyes, clearing the sweat that had entered them and was continuously pouring down her face. Somewhere within the chapel she heard glass shatter. She watched as the man holding her partner at gunpoint slowly shuffled over, closer and closer to the exit.