Cleansing

by Roy A. Teel, Jr.

  “Let’s just say that you’ve lost four decades of your life in this prison.” Richards was calm and collected. He spouted out a few things in a logical and sensible way, and the Eagle said, “I told them you’re not crazy. You’re twisted with a sick ideology, but you’re not insane. What’s the last thing you remember?” Richards got a thoughtful look on his face and said, “I had taken the family out to Box Canyon for a camping trip, and we got busted by the fuzz. They accused us of murder.”

  The Eagle had a small midi recorder in his hand and asked, “That’s it? That’s all you remember?” “Well…we dropped a lot of acid on that trip. I remember ordering some of the sisters to take care of the Lord’s work before our arrest.” The Eagle said, “Tell me about the family, Mr. Richards. Where are those that followed you after you went to prison?” Richards moved in his seat, and the Eagle grabbed his shoulder and said, “Stay still. You don’t want to make me angry.” “I know you. You’re the Iron Eagle…I’ve heard talk about you on the yard from inmates and guards. So…what? Did you come here to kill me?” The Eagle looked into his eyes and said, “You tell me.”

  Richards nodded, and the Eagle said, “Now tell me about the family, and I will make sure you die fast. If you don’t, I will make it take a year, and no doctor will be able to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. You will just scream in agony from an unknown illness. I don’t figure you’ll get much sympathy from this place. There are a few of these guys that would like to watch you die badly.”

  Bruno’s face dropped, and he said, “After the trial, the family splintered. They moved to different parts of the country. Most just left the life altogether, and they are damned to hell for forsaking me.” The Eagle laughed and said, “Yeah…you’re an angel. Who do you still keep in contact with?” “My wife, who I will marry in this life or the next. That’s about it.” “Charlotte Watson?” Richards looked surprised. “You know her?” “I know of her. So…you pass messages to her to give to your followers?” He nodded and began to slump in his seat. Sweat was dripping down his face, and he was having trouble breathing. “What did you do to me?” “I told you I came here to kill you. I’m starting the first phase of the death process. Who does Ms. Watson talk to on the outside for you? Who runs the family with you…in here and out there? You need to answer me quickly, or I’m going to make it really start to hurt.”

  Richards lifted his head and said, “Charlotte. Charlotte deals with Arnest.” He was blacking out, and the Eagle asked, “Is that a first or last name?” Richards was out. There was a drop of drool running down the side of his face, and his eyes were glazed over. The Eagle took out a second syringe and a bottle of clear liquid and injected Richards again in the carotid artery. He used a finer needle and put it through a fold in his neck, so it would be undetectable. A few more seconds passed, and Richards was wide awake and screaming obscenities.

  The Eagle packed up his kit and wrapped it around his arm, put his shirt and coat back on and said, “Have a nice death, Mr. Richards. It’s going to take a while, but it will come.” The Eagle knocked on the door, and a guard opened it. Jim was standing with two other officers and saw John emerge from the room. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I believe the FBI is finished talking to Mr. Richards.” Captain Rains met the men at the exit to the unit and drove them back to their waiting car. John thanked them for their time and got in the sedan, and they headed back to the airport. It was three p.m. sharp when the wheels of the jet lifted off the runway. Jim asked, “What did the Eagle get out of Richards?” “Not enough to stop the killing, Jim, not enough to stop it.”

  Chapter Nine

  “He’s started his own church, and it

  seems to have some strange beliefs.”

  Charlotte Watson was typing an inventory report at the food pantry where she had been employed for nearly two decades. The food bank was operated in cooperation with four local churches, and she was typing the quarterly report for the board of directors on the state of the pantries. Pastor Hess Stevens walked in and asked, “How are the reports coming along, Charlotte?” “Well, Pastor, our food inventory is at the lowest I have seen in my twenty years with the pantry. Donations have atrophied to the point that we are going to face some serious questions about which units we keep open.” Hess walked around behind her and looked at the report on her screen. “That can’t be right…Charlotte, that just can’t be right.” He was looking over her shoulder, and the smell of her perfume caught his attention.

  Not one for vanity, at forty-nine, Charlotte refused to color her salt and pepper hair. Hess had mentioned it once, and her response set him back on his heels. Her ample braless cleavage and knee-length skirt caught his eye, and Charlotte noticed. “Pastor…the report is on my screen.” He walked quickly around the front of her desk and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, that was inappropriate.” She laughed and said, “No it wasn’t, Hess. I just caught you getting a peek, that’s all.” He sat down on a steel chair across from her desk and said, “We have known each other for ten years. I love you very much. Why won’t you marry me?” Charlotte stopped typing and said, “I’m already married.” Hess looked on. He had to be careful. He’d had these conversations with her before.

  “I understand, Charlotte, and I admire your commitment to Bruno. I don’t understand it, but I do respect it. But, sweetheart, he’s never getting out of prison, and you can’t expect me to have you on the side for the rest of our lives.” Charlotte started typing again as she answered. “My heart belongs to another, Hess. My body belongs to me and the men I choose to share it with. I enjoy physical intimacy, but Bruno and I cannot have that until he is released. We have spoken of my carnal desires, and he has blessed my being with other men, but I have sworn my love to him, and he has told me himself that we are married in the eyes of God.”

  Hess stood up with a dejected look on his face and asked when the report would be finished. “I’m almost done. What time does the board meet tonight?” “Eight p.m.” She looked into his sad eyes and said softly, “Close my office door.” A light smile grew across his face. Charlotte stood up from her desk, walked over to him, and lifted her skirt and pulled down her underwear. She bent over her desk and said, “Do as you please to this body. It is all I can offer you, Pastor, and I hate to see you so sad.” Hess locked the door as he removed his pants. Charlotte gasped slightly as Hess penetrated her.

  It was half past ten, and Tina Martinez was asleep in her crib. Estelle had laid her down a little after nine and was watching television in the living room. She had the volume on the television raised to drown out the sound of her son’s video game in the room next door.

  It was high tide, and the surf was crashing on the rocks below the sundeck off the living room. John was sitting in a lounge chair staring at the sea with a bottle of water in his hand. Sara returned home and saw him staring off into space. She took a shower, put on a robe, and walked out to join him. She thought he might be asleep, and there was no way to tell until he lifted the bottle to his lips. She went to the wet bar and poured a glass of wine and walked out onto the deck.

  “Room for one more?” John looked over at Sara and smiled. He got up and gave her a hug and a huge kiss. He dipped her as he kissed her, and when he brought her back up, she was weak in the knees and plopped down on a lounge chair. “WOW! What’s gotten into you, Mr. Swenson? Did you see an old girlfriend or were you fantasizing out here?” John laughed softly and said, “I wish…it’s been a long day, and you are a sight for sore eyes.” Sara laughed and said, “Tell me about it.” She sipped her wine and asked, “Any leads on the child killings?”

  “Jim and I flew up to Corcoran State Prison this afternoon to speak with Bruno Richards.” Sara’s face dropped, and she said, “What could you or even the Eagle get out of that nut case?” “Not much. I got two names. One I knew. Charlotte Watson.”

  Sara interrupted, “You mean that crazy woman who wants to marry that killer
?” John nodded and said, “And Arnest. But I don’t know if that’s a first or last name.” Sara took another sip of her wine and said, “Arnest…hmm…I remember a man that I went to church with about ten years ago with that last name.” John choked a little on his water and asked, “You went to church?”

  She nodded and took a sip of her wine. “Yes, John. I used to go to church. I was a member of Trinity Blood Church in Van Nuys for about three years.” “Why didn’t you ever tell me about that?” “I don’t know. It was shortly after Amber’s murder. You were gone. My best friend was dead. I could no more comfort you over losing your wife than I could grasp the fact that my lifelong friend had died so horribly. A friend of mine at the hospital was really, really into the church, and I started going. I liked the family atmosphere and the fact that I could share my feelings with others in a faith-based environment, so I stayed.”

  “What made you leave the church?” She giggled. “Logic, number one. I realized after a few years that if there really was a God he would not make one religion for a whole planet and send non-believers to hell. Also, they were using my medical training to get free services. It’s a huge church with thousands of members. I mean, the church has three campuses that are larger than some universities. Anyway, they had a free clinic, and I donated my time, first, once a month, then every two weeks, and then weekly. The more I gave, the more they took. I wasn’t able to be a good doctor to the patients at the hospital or the church because I wasn’t getting any sleep.

  “But the thing that pushed it over the edge was a young woman who came into the clinic. She had been beaten up by her boyfriend, and she had serious injuries. I patched her up and called for an ambulance to take her over to Northridge Hospital’s ER, and I called a friend to follow up on her. In the process of helping her, I had two other patients, and I made a mistake in my distraction and mixed up their prescriptions. I was so tired and emotionally drained that I screwed up and gave the wrong medication to a patient.”

  John sat up on the edge of the chair and asked, “And what happened?” Sara got teary eyed, “One of the patients was fine. He came back the next day, and another doctor on duty fixed the error. The other man didn’t come back. He had a severe allergy to penicillin. I learned a few days later from his wife that he went into anaphylactic shock and died before she could get help. It almost ended my medical career, and I stopped volunteering at the church.”

  “And how was that received?” “With bitterness and anger. The founding pastor of the church hounded me night and day for almost a month, telling me that it was not my fault. That it was God’s will. That they needed me, and that I was turning my back on the people I took an oath to help.” John leaned back on his chair and asked, “Was the pastor, by chance, Erick Walton, Sr.?” Sara’s eyes got wide, and she said, “Yes…do you know him?” “I don’t. Jim does. His son, Erick Jr., has started his own church, and it seems to have some strange beliefs.”

  “Little Erick left the church?” “You called him Little Erick?” “Well, it was like a family, and since they were junior and senior the members called them Big Erick and Little Erick, so we knew who we were talking about. He left the church? Oh, that must have gone over like a lead balloon.”

  “Do you know Little Erick?” “Very well, actually. I dated him for a short time while I was in the church. His father wanted to marry him off, and he really, really wanted the two of us to hit it off and marry.” “Why didn’t it work out?” “Little Erick had some WAY OUT THERE ideas about men and women and the woman’s role in marriage and life. He is an end time preacher.” “You mean he believes that the second coming is coming any time?” Sara nodded and said, “Not just any time. He believes it’s going to happen now, and that we all need to prepare. He was trying to talk his father into changing the church’s structure to follow the way the early church functioned in the Book of Acts.” “A communal family where members sell all of their belongings and live together like the apostles set up?” She nodded and said, “Since when do you know so much about Christianity?” “I’m getting a crash course…and I’m starting to think that Little Erick might be behind these killings.”

  Sara stood up and said angrily, “You listen to me, John. I know Erick Jr. very, very well, and I can tell you while he is a bit eccentric, there is no way on this earth that he would hurt a child or anyone else. That is totally against everything he believes and what his religion stands for.” She walked back to the wet bar and poured another glass of wine and walked back out onto the deck and sat down.

  She took a few deep breaths and said, “I’m sorry, John…I’m sorry I snapped at you. I just can’t imagine Erick in the hands of the Iron Eagle. I know him too well. I know that he could never do the barbaric things that are being done to these children.”

  John took a drink of his water and asked, “You said you know this Arnest person.” Sara got a thoughtful look on her face. John had flustered her, and she had forgotten about him. “Yes. F. E. Arnest. He was a deacon and on the board of the church when I was there. He’s a creepy looking guy who made my skin crawl whenever I saw him.” “Do you remember what he did for a living?” Sara took a sip of her wine and froze, “Oh no….” “What?” “He owned a funeral home in Arleta, I think. Oh please, John. Not again. Not another fucking Barstow.” He took a sip of his water and said, “I don’t know, Sara. Jim is meeting with Big Erick tomorrow. He’s known him from some years back. Maybe he can shed some light onto this.” Sara sat back on the lounge and said, “Big Erick is a proud and very, very popular preacher. If anyone can shed light onto this and its religious implications, he can.” They finished off their drinks and went to bed.

  It was half past one, and Woodman Avenue, usually a busy thoroughfare, was quiet and well lit. A few cars turned onto a curved section of road as it passed Devonwood Park and moved into the rows of homes that lined the avenue. A small compact car pulled up near the first house on the street, and a small, hooded figure dressed in black began to move until it stood near the side entrance to Estelle Martinez’s home. The figure moved in the darkness to the back of the house where there was no light. It felt its way along the walls and windows, looking for an opening, but the windows were shut and locked, and the hum of a window air conditioner could be heard. The figure tried the sliding glass patio doors, but they resisted any attempt to open them.

  The unknown person pulled a thin pen knife from a pocket and stuck it into the locking mechanism on the slider. With a few twists, the lock released, and the door slid open. As it did, a house alarm sent a wailing siren into the night air. The figure jumped and began to run away from the house and back to the street. No sooner had it made its way onto the street than two LAPD black and whites headed in its direction.

  The figure stripped off the black hooded sweatshirt and pants and threw them in some brush next to the park. One LAPD cruiser had its search light on while the other pulled up to Estelle’s residence. The street was suddenly lit by porch lights, and the figure tried to jump into some bushes but was spotted. One officer got out with her weapon drawn while her partner called out for the suspect to come out, hands up. There was a tense moment as the female officer leaned down on the hood of the car with her weapon pointed at the bushes, then the slender figure rose and followed the instructions of the officers.

  Estelle was talking to another officer, showing him where the burglar had tried to enter her home. He was taking notes and getting ready to call in a crime scene unit to fingerprint the scene when the arresting officer from the park radioed and said, “We have a suspect in custody who claims to be friends with the homeowner. She says she was trying to get in to have a place to sleep.” Estelle looked baffled until a handcuffed Lisa Farmer came walking through the door with an LAPD officer.

  “Lisa?” She had her head down in disgrace, and the officer asked if Estelle knew her. “Yes, Officer. Her name is Lisa Farmer, and she used to be my nanny. Lisa, what the hell are you
doing?” Lisa lifted her head, her face stained with tears, and said, “I had a fight with Erick, and I needed a place to stay.” “So you tried to break in? Why didn’t you knock on the front door?” Lisa started to cry and said, “I know how angry you are with me, and I thought I could sleep on the floor in Brandon’s room and slip out in the morning without you knowing I was here. I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Estelle looked on, and the officer asked if she wanted to press charges. She told him no, and they uncuffed Lisa, and she ran and hugged Estelle, who was not returning the gesture.

  The cops cleared the scene, and Estelle yelled at Lisa, “What the fuck were you thinking, girl? You could have been killed. If not by the cops by me. I keep a shotgun in my bedroom, and that bitch is loaded. If I had seen you in my house and didn’t recognize you, you would be dead right now. And I shoot first and ask questions later. You know what I mean?” Lisa nodded and pulled away. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause this fuss. I was just going to be in and out. You would never know I had been here.” “Breaking into a person’s home is only going to get you killed or land you in jail. Now you told me that you were married to this pastor guy, right?” Lisa nodded. “Then you get your ass home and work it out with him. Is he hitting you or abusing you?” Lisa shook her head. “Then that man has to be worried sick. What’s his number? I want to call him and let him know you’re alright.”