From The Shadows (Blaze series Book 1)

by David Carter

  “Really? That’s unusual…”

  “I know. Hang on, I wrote them down in my notes here somewhere.”

  He opened his notepad and flipped through to the right page, then handed it to Ryan. He read the references: Leviticus 18:22, 20:13.

  Ryan was not religious, but he had a basic understanding of the Bible courtesy of his grandmother who was a devout Presbyterian. She had taught him that the Bible was made up of sixty-six different books, each with numbered chapters like any other book, and individually numbered sentences within each chapter so that people could look up any verse of the Bible quickly and efficiently. He confidently said, “Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse twenty-two, as well as chapter twenty, verse thirteen.”

  Hampton was raised in a Catholic family, and was surprised that his younger counterpart knew how the Bible reference system worked. “Well done, my young heathen! You’ve made an old geezer proud!”

  Ryan laughed. “Have you any idea what the verses say?”

  “Not off the top of my head, no. Do you have your smartphone handy?”

  “Always,” he said as he pulled it out from his trouser pocket and punched the scripture reference into Google.

  The search results popped up instantly. “Okay, Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse twenty- two: You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female; it is an abomination.”

  As the words registered in his mind, Ryan said, “Holy shit; I think I can see where this is going...”

  “Look up the second scripture and see if it confirms what we are both thinking,” said Hampton.

  Ryan typed the numerals into his phone as fast as he could, and within seconds, he said, “Leviticus, chapter twenty, verse thirteen: If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death. Their bloodguiltness is upon them.”

  Hampton caressed his chin with his index finger and thumb, deep in thought. “Do you think Karl and Luke were in a sexual relationship?” he asked. “I’m certainly leaning in that direction after listening to those scriptures. It’s almost as if the perpetrator is telling us why he, she, or they committed the crime.”

  “There’s no almost about it,” said Ryan. “The golf club confirms our suspicions. I knew it had to be symbolic in some way.” He paused for a moment, then asked Hampton, “How can words that were written in the Bible justify executing a gay person, anyway?”

  “Well, if you are of the Christian faith, you believe that everything written in the Bible is the word of God written through the hand of the prophets that he chose to deliver his message to the world.”

  Ryan scrunched his face up. “It’s a pretty big leap to say that everything written in the Bible is the actual word of God, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, and there are millions of Christians who know that many of the Bible’s words and stories are of metaphorical significance. Having said that, there are also many people around the world who take every word at its literal meaning. Just look at the Islamic terrorists who heed the words of the Koran and blow themselves to smithereens in the name of Allah. Once upon a time, two thousand years or so ago, that is how the Bible was also perceived. It was common law for women who committed adultery to be stoned to death, simply because the Bible commands it.”

  “Jesus Christ, that’s just wrong.”

  “Well, it still happens in certain parts of the Middle East today. But fortunately, western society has moved on from such brutality.”

  “So, what do you think? Is this a religious or hate crime?”

  “Well, it could be both. I doubt anyone without the knowledge of the Bible would go to such lengths to tell us why they did it.”

  Ryan scratched the back of his neck as he tried to make sense of everything. “Okay, old timer, we will roll with your theory for the moment. We are looking for an anti-homosexual, religious psychopath who enjoys a round of golf.”

  Hampton chuckled in appreciation of Ryan’s humour; another reason he enjoyed working with him.

  Ryan found the two Glendale Police Officers waiting in their patrol car, keeping the crime scene secure. He walked up to the driver’s door and rested his elbows in the vacant window frame. “I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely. “It’s never easy losing a fellow officer. I hope O’Brian pulls through so we can all get a small piece of joy out of this goddamn train wreck.”

  They both thanked him, and asked if he needed any further assistance. He was about to wave them off when he suddenly had an idea. “Actually, there is one question I need to ask you both.”

  “Sure, fire away,” said the driver.

  “Who called the station to report the murder?”

  The driver replied, “I received an emergency call from the hospital saying they had dispatched an ambulance to Karl O’Brian’s residence. I was told he was found unconscious and barely breathing. The lady I spoke to on the phone also said the other occupant of the house had not been as fortunate. That’s when I called the MCHU. That’s all I know; I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Thank you, officer, every detail is vital. But just to be clear: the lady who spoke to you on the phone didn’t happen to mention who tipped off the hospital about the murder, did she?”

  “Unfortunately, no, detective.”

  “Can you at least tell me her name?”

  “It’s Anna Davies. She’s worked at the hospital for years. I’d say just about everybody in Glendale knows her.”

  He wrote down her name in his notebook. “I just have one further question. Did either of you, or anybody else in Glendale, know that Karl and Luke were in a sexual relationship?”

  The look of shock on their faces answered his question. “Are you serious?” they exclaimed in unison.

  “Let’s just say it’s more than likely. But for now, I would really appreciate it if you would keep that sensitive information to yourselves.”

  They assured him they would.

  Ryan thanked them before walking to his car. He got in and wound down the window, and called out to Hampton, “Are you coming, old timer?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get some lunch. I’m bloody starving!”

  “Sounds good to me. What’s the plan after that?”

  Ryan’s face changed from cheeky to serious as he said, “We’re gonna go pay Anna Davies a visit and see if we can track down the person who tipped off the hospital, that’s what.”

  Hampton got in the car. “I like the way you think, boss.”

  Chapter 20

  The Watcher walked down the stairs to his basement, closing the door behind him as he entered. He walked straight across the spacious concrete floor to the other side, where he stood in front of a large bookshelf that rested against the cinder block wall. He reached up to the top shelf, and pulled out his favourite book, triggering a mechanism that swung the bookshelf away from the wall, revealing a hidden passage way beyond.

  He hunched to avoid bumping his head as he walked along the damp, gloomy path. And after a dozen steps or so, feeling his way along the tunnel, he came to a stop and felt around for the light switch. He found it without difficulty and flicked it on, buckling at the knees as a wave of euphoria coursed through his body while he absorbed his surroundings.

  The passage led to a chamber that no other living soul knew existed. He had dug it out by hand, and had laid the morbid grey cinder block walls by himself. He was handy enough to install the wiring for the bright electric light bulbs that hung from the centre of the bare Gib board ceiling.

  He had a knack for picking up new skills and learning subjects of interest with relative ease. He was incredibly intelligent, and wasn’t afraid to get stuck in and get his hands dirty. Through trial and error, he had engineered the mechanism to the secret door himself, eventually coming up with a working model that turned his bookshelf into the perfect disguise for his hideaway of horrors.

  He had built the room spec
ifically for two purposes: first and foremost, it was a quiet place he could bring his victims to do whatever he pleased with them. And secondly, it was a safe place to store all the newspaper clippings and memorabilia he had collected about and from his victims.

  The room was the length and width of a medium to large size living room. In the corner, diagonally opposite the entrance, was an old wire base bed frame with a worn-out mattress with stuffing bursting from a small tear in the fabric. A small bedside table stood next to it. On the left wall was a small bookshelf lined with various medical books: his current obsession of interest. Next to the bookshelf were two tall cupboards, filled with sterile rubber gloves, scalpel blades, masks, glass bottles filled with clear and coloured liquids, and numerous other items needed for poking and prodding around the human anatomy. On the wall, to the right of the bed in the corner, was a weapons rack mounted to the wall with two razor-sharp swords hanging from it, as well as an assortment of knives, whips, chains and other sadistic instruments one could use to torture somebody free of their sins.

  The Watcher opened the plastic bag he held, and returned the one missing item from his armoury: his sacred dagger.

  There was a table in the centre of the room that he had acquired from a psychiatric hospital that had long since closed in the district. It had five adjustable brown leather bindings with strong metal buckles, used to restrain any unwilling participants by neck, wrists and ankles.

  To the left of the entrance was his assortment of personal items collected from his victims, mounted proudly on multi-level shelves bolted to the wall. He intimately ran his fingers over the objects, seducing them into his world. His hand came to rest on a faded yellow bike helmet that still had the initials: G.W faintly visible on one side.

  The Watcher said, “Hello, little Georgie. I can’t tell you enough how much I’ve missed you.”

  He rambled on about George’s father telling him about his life, and how he was a good, honest policeman, so he knew he had died with a purpose. He constantly reminded George that he had literally saved his father’s life.

  He continued touching the items on display, until he stopped at the one item that aroused him more than anything: half a broken pencil. He moaned as he became fully aroused, then violently threw himself on the bed in the corner to relieve the pressure before he burst at the seams. He could never resist the urge when it came to that pencil, even though his conscience knew it was wrong.

  After he had finished, he picked up the newspaper with the headline story of Blaze on the front page, and placed it on a vacant space on the shelves along with a worn leather golf glove taken from O’Brian and Turner’s house.

  He stood back, admiring his handiwork. He was slightly agitated, as he had not been able to procure an item of significance to remind him of O’Brian. He thought he heard somebody walk into the house while deciding on which item to take, and had fled out the back door as a precaution.

  He felt guilty after his brief lack of self-control. He went over to the bedside table and pulled out a box of matches along with three candles from one of the drawers and placed them on the flat surface above. He lit them, and walked over to the light switch, turning it off before kneeling on the cold concrete floor.

  In the ambiance of the flickering flames, he crossed himself as he said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost...”

  He struggled to say the words, as he knew that what he had just done was detestable in the eyes of God. He finally managed to say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have been unfaithful to you, and defiled myself. I beg of your merciful hand for forgiveness.”

  He sat in the stillness of the chamber, until he heard God speak to his heart, answering his prayer.

  He got up from the floor and took off his shirt. He looked in the mirror on the wall above the bedside table, and placed his hand over his heart while reciting the words to his favourite Bible verse. He loved it so much that almost thirty years prior he had had it tattooed to his chest, as a permanent reminder of God’s love, and forgiveness of his sins.

  In the dim light, he removed his hand, revealing his tattoo. He saw the scripture in the mirror staring back at him: 1 John 1:9.

  He retrieved his shirt from the floor and put it back on before blowing out the candles and heading upstairs.

  He always returned from the basement with a renewed spirit, even if he did stumble and lose his sense of morality from time to time. But unfortunately for anyone else that had had the unpleasant experience of a tour into the bowels of the Watcher’s lair, it had been only a one-way trip.

  To hell.

  Chapter 21

  “Okay, Blaze, it’s time to spill your guts. Start from the beginning and don’t even think about leaving anything out,” said Danny.

  “How would you know if I did?” he replied.

  Danny chuckled. “All right, smartass, you got me on that one. But you get my point, though, no short cuts!”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Blaze. He grinned, then quickly said, “Once upon a time there was a little boy called Bobby. Some really bad shit happened to him, and he has hated the world ever since. The end.”

  Danny laughed. “You think you’re such a clever dick don’t you? Just take your time, man, I’ve got all day...”

  “Okay, fair enough; a deal is a deal,” said Blaze as he prepared to tell his story for the first time ever.

  He yawned before he said, “When I was really young, my mum and dad moved to Glendale, which is a small country town a couple hours’ drive south of here. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it, but it’s in the middle of nowhere and has got sweet fuck all to do there. Don’t go there unless you like all things old fashioned or to do with farming and religion.”

  “Roger that,” said Danny.

  “My mum accepted a job as principal of the Catholic boarding school in Glendale a year or so before I was born, and within a few years, my older siblings, James and Trinity, had started primary school and were living in the dorms, except on weekends, which made me the annoying one who kept home life chaotic for my parents. So, on top of my apparent behavioural issues, my dad stopped going to church, unlike my mum, who was, and still is, really passionate about God, causing them to fight all the fucking time.”

  “My parents went through the same shit,” sympathised Danny.

  “My dad used to be an alcoholic before he met my mum, and part of the bargain for him to start dating her, was that he had to give up the piss and become a born again Christian. He managed to dry out and got baptised as a fully-fledged Catholic. He had what some would consider the perfect life: a loving wife, a nice home, and three rat bag kids. Everything was going sweet until my dad, and I use that term loosely, had an accident at work, which broke him completely.”

  “How so?” quizzed Danny.

  “Well, my mum told me he worked for a large construction company, operating heavy machinery in Woodridge, which is a bigger town than Glendale not too far from here.”

  “Yeah, I know Woodridge, but I fucking wish I didn’t,” said Danny.

  “You got something you want to share with me?”

  “Another time, perhaps,” said Danny as he gazed into space.

  Blaze shrugged off whatever was bothering Danny and continued. “One particular day, Dad was lifting a heavy steel beam on a building site with a crane. Whoever had secured it didn’t check the load limit capacity on the chains they were using. Dad hoisted it up in the air, and after a few seconds, the chains snapped and the beam landed directly on top of his best mate, crushing and killing him instantly.”

  “Holy shit, that’s rough, man.”

  “Yeah, I know. He never got charged by the police, though, as he wasn’t responsible for the incident. Instead, he got let go by the company, as they were taken for every dollar they had by the wife and four kids of his friend who’d died. Dad still felt responsible, though, and his life went down the shitter in a big way after that. It drove him insane, bei
ng cooped up at home with nothing to do but think about that moment every passing minute of each day. Honestly, I think prison would have been a kinder sentence for the old prick.”

  “Old prick? You don’t sound too fond of him.”

  “That’s because I’m not. I’ll get to why in a minute. So, Dad hit the grog and started smoking weed just so he could get some sleep at night, which started causing problems between him and Mum. It put them on their knees financially with him being out of work for so long. But right on cue, he managed to get off his ass and find a job in Glendale. Mum was a school teacher, and was ready for the step up to principal at Woodridge High, but the opportunity for a fresh start in Glendale with two incomes was too good to pass up.”

  “Damn right.”

  “So, Dad cleaned himself up, and started his job as a farmhand while Mum accepted the vacant position as principal of the boarding school. And to be fair, Mum told me he made a real fist of things. Everything was fine until a drought hit the whole region; it crippled the farming community. The farmers had no money to pay the workers, so he got laid off for the second time in eight months. That proved the crushing blow and sent him back down alcohol alley—and as far as I know, my pathetic excuse of a father is still finding the bottom of a whiskey bottle first thing after he wakes up every fucking morning.”

  “Shit. I guess every man has his breaking point. So I assume your parents got divorced?”

  Blaze inhaled deeply before exhaling through his nose, then said, “When I was eight, my mum, to her credit, finally threw the useless prick out with absolutely nothing but the clothes on his back after he physically abused her for the last time. She once told me that he purposely hit her in places that would be hidden by her clothes. She gave him an ultimatum: get-the-fuck-out, my words not hers, or she would go to the authorities with her fresh bruises and have his abusive, drunken ass thrown in jail.”

  “Brave woman, your mother,” said Danny.