Little Dead Riding Hood: Dead Cold Mystery 13

by Blake Banner

  He shook his head. “No! I can hear it in your voice. The Lord has made me wise. Satan’s evil has been visited on our family and He has made me wise to it, to see the evil and excise it! You are lying to me. I can hear it in your voice.”

  I went to the front pew and sat. Dehan moved back and sat in the shadows across the aisle. I spread my hands and then laid them on my knees. “All right, Samuel, you tell me what it is I have to do.”

  “The evil is in her,” he said.

  “So you say, but what do you want me to do?”

  “It was in her sister.”

  “And your sister, Samuel.”

  “She brought the evil into the world, and she killed Momma.” His bottom lip curled in under his teeth. Tears spilled from his eyes, soaking his cheeks. He spoke in a choked, nasal voice, like he had flu. “She took Momma from us… She went into her belly and killed her. She went and she never came back…”

  He yanked on Helen’s hair. It must have hurt, but Helen didn’t react. She looked catatonic. “It was her fault!”

  “That is not Celeste, Samuel. That’s your sister, Helen.”

  “She has the evil in her! She killed Momma and she put her evil poison into Helen! She must be punished!”

  “So you keep saying, Samuel, but you won’t tell me what it is I have to do.”

  “You are a policeman.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you must execute the law!”

  “How?”

  He pointed the big knife at his sister. She still seemed to be paralyzed, staring unseeing. “Kill her!”

  I smiled, looked at the floor and sighed again. “That is never going to happen, Samuel.” I looked up at him. “God said, in the sixth commandment, remember? Thou shalt not kill.”

  “Unless the Lord ordains it. Jesus himself said, Matthew 15:4, ‘He who speaks evil of father or mother, let him surely die.’ She has the devil inside her, she killed her mother and has brought her father low, crippled and broken him. She must die.”

  “That is not Celeste, Samuel. That is Helen. You can’t punish Helen for Celeste’s crime. You have to let her go.”

  He leaned forward, thrusting his face toward me. His voice was a rasp. “But she is inside her! She has gone inside her and made her sick! She is eating her mind, putting worms in her brain, making her crazy! She is killing her soul! She will kill us all!”

  I spoke loudly. “Did you stop to think maybe she is doing that to you? The only person here threatening to kill anybody is you. You brought a weapon into the house of God. You are the one talking about killing, Samuel, not Helen.”

  He was shaking his head before I’d finished, stepping toward me, dragging Helen with him, making her stumble onto her hands and knees. “Not me! Not me! You! You are the instrument of God. You are the one who must execute his will. You are the one who must kill her and release her soul…”

  I stood. “OK. How do you want me to do this?”

  He hesitated. A small click echoed around the church as Dehan cocked her weapon. He glanced over in her direction. I spoke again, drawing his attention back. “Come on, Samuel! I keep asking you, but you won’t answer. What do you want me to do?”

  I could see his hands were shaking. “She must be excised…”

  “How?”

  “You are God’s instrument…”

  His lip was curling in and he had started sobbing again. I moved toward the altar. “You want me to come up there and do it?”

  He nodded miserably. “No tricks… It must be the will of God. You must do His will…”

  “I plan to.”

  I didn’t rush. I walked deliberately. I climbed the steps to the altar and stood just four or five feet away from him, with Helen on her knees between us, staring at nothing with huge eyes. I held out my hand. “I’ll take it from here.”

  He stared feverishly at me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Come on, Samuel. You told me I am God’s instrument. Hand her over. I am going to lift her onto the altar, so it will heal and sanctify Helen’s soul and release her from Celeste’s Satanic hold.”

  “She must die…”

  “I’m coming to that: Then I will plunge the knife into her heart so that Celeste dies and is cast back into hell.”

  He started shaking his head. The action was almost frenzied, almost convulsive. He started saying, “No…! No…!” his tone rising at the end, almost like a question.

  I held out my hand, aware Dehan must be lining him up. I said, “Come on, Samuel. Let’s get this over with. Let me take it from here.”

  His voice was becoming hysterical, verging on a scream. “No…! No…! You’re lying! You’re lying! She’s in you, too! She’s everywhere! She’s everywhere! Oh, God in Heaven, have mercy on me!”

  I lunged for him and grabbed his knife arm, pushing Helen away with my foot as I did it. But he was immensely strong and she barely moved. He slashed with his arm and I saw thick blood ooze from her neck. She toppled sideways and lay motionless. I bellowed, “Get a medic!”

  Then he hurled me away and I fell, staggering backward down the steps, sending two tall, brass candlesticks crashing to the stone floor. The air was knocked painfully from my lungs and I staggered gasping to my feet as he vaulted the barrier to the altar and ran toward the door, screaming for God to help him. I went after him, hearing his pleas echoing over my head as he plunged through the arched door, out into the rain.

  I forced my bruised, aching body to sprint and burst out after him. The rain lashed into my face. Through the churchyard trees, I saw Samuel’s hunched, lanky body racing toward his house. I went after him. He plunged through the gate and up the stairs. I was halfway across the road when he pushed open the door and went in. He slammed it as I followed. I swore under my breath, but I didn’t hesitate. I knew Dehan had skills in the lock-picking department, but there was no time for that. There was no telling what Samuel might do in this frame of mind. I pulled my piece and blew out the lock with a single shot. Then, I kicked the door open and went in.

  The house was dark and still. I called out, “Samuel? Where are you?”

  There was no reply. I ran through possible locations in my mind: his bedroom, Helen’s room, Celeste’s room…

  I remained motionless, listening for the slightest sound. I heard nothing. Then suddenly, I knew where he was, the logical, natural place for him to go. I moved to the living room and opened the door. They were both sobbing like a couple of kids. Samuel was on his knees beside his father’s bed, holding his father’s hand in both of his own. His face was pressed onto it, and he was weeping, begging for his father’s forgiveness.

  His father had his face turned away, his other hand clasped over his eyes, and he too was sobbing. I stood in the doorway, watching them and listening to Samuel.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry. She had the devil in her. You know she had the devil in her. You said it yourself, didn’t you? We both knew it.”

  The old man had started keening, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes. All he kept saying, over and over, was, “Oh, Jesus, Sammy… Oh, Jesus! Oh, sweet Jesus…!”

  Samuel raised his head from the bedcovers, hugging his father’s arm and hand to his chest.

  “She was killing us all, Daddy! You know she was! You said it yourself! She was going through us one at a time. She would have killed you. Sure! She’s nearly killed you already! I had to do something! I had to do something!”

  The old man looked up at the ceiling. His face was bright where the dull light from the window reflected off the tears that drenched his face.

  “Sweet mother of God,” he said. “Forgive me! What have I done to deserve this? What have I done to deserve this cruel punishment for my family? If I have done wrong, sweet Mother! Punish me! Don’t punish my children like this!”

  “Daddy, don’t! Please, daddy, don’t!”

  I said, “All right! That’s enough crazy ranting from both of you! What the hell is wrong with you, Samuel? You
go storming into a church, demanding that an officer of the law murders an innocent woman? Get a grip, will you!”

  He got to his feet and pointed a trembling hand at me. “You are an officer of the law. You need to get her out of here.”

  “There is an ambulance on the way that will take her to hospital, and Samuel, you had better pray she comes through, or you are in serious trouble. You are coming with me to the station. We have a lot of talking to do.”

  Samuel swallowed. “To the police station?”

  His father struggled onto one elbow, his mouth gaping. “I can’t go to the station. I’m sick. I have angina… You can’t.”

  “Your physician will be there. You can and you will. Both of you.” Outside, I could hear sirens wailing far away, but drawing closer, and I knew Dehan had called for backup as well as an ambulance. I pointed at Samuel. “You, get your dad dressed and ready to come to the station. Do it now.” I pointed at his dad. “You, don’t move from this room.”

  I followed Samuel to the bottom of the stairs and watched him climb them to the upper floor, looking at me over his shoulder. He still looked crazy, but like maybe he was calming down. I turned and leaned out the front door. The ambulance had pulled up and two patrol cars with it. Blue and red lights were pulsing, leaping off the wet blacktop. I turned back to look up the stairs.

  Samuel was standing, looking down at me. He reminded me of his sister before. His legs were illuminated by the dull, gray light from the open door, but his upper body and his face was in darkness. I could see he had a bundle of clothes held in his right hand, but he was standing immobile. I said, “Come on, Samuel. Cut the crazy act and let’s get moving.”

  He came down the stairs one heavy tread at a time, but stopped right in front of me, staring deep into my eyes. He said, “You don’t understand. She came from Satan. She brought evil to this house. She had to die.”

  “Who did, Samuel? Celeste? Are you telling me that you killed Celeste?”

  He shook his head and said again, “You don’t understand.”

  He moved along the hall and stopped as he opened his father’s door. “I’m going to dress my father.”

  “Make it fast, Samuel.”

  He went in and closed the door.

  I looked outside again and saw Dehan talking to the paramedics. They had a gurney they were wheeling toward the ambulance. I squinted and saw that Helen’s head was not covered. She was alive. They lifted the gurney into the ambulance, climbed in and closed the door. Then the ambulance was moving, wailing, heading toward the hospital.

  Dehan approached the cops from the patrol cars, pointing up and down the road. I figured she was telling them to seal the area. Crime Scene would be on their way, but not, thankfully, Frank. This time, I told myself, nobody had died.

  I turned and looked back at the door that had once been the living room door, but was now the old man’s bedroom door. There was silence. The whole damned house was silent. I wondered for a moment what it had been like for Celeste, a bright, intelligent young woman, imprisoned in this house, damned and condemned every day for having killed her mother, for being young, attractive and free of spirit; assaulted verbally, insulted, humiliated and damned to hell for wanting to experience life and love. There was no need to send her to hell, I told myself. She must already have been there.

  Then the scream came. It was a scream, and a wail of grief and fear. I ran for the door and tried to push it open. It was locked. I hurled myself against it with my shoulder, kicked savagely at the latch. It wouldn’t budge. Then I saw the smoke curling under the crack and shouted, “Stand back! Stand away from the door!” as I pulled my piece for the second time that afternoon, took aim at the lock and fired. Then I kicked the door again and it smashed open.

  The old man was curled up in the bed, covering his face with his arms, screaming and howling. Samuel was with him, clutching at him. He seemed to be trying to embrace him. His face was twisted with terror, but his voice was weirdly reassuring as he said over and over, “It’s going to be OK, Daddy! We’re going to heaven with Mom! We did the right thing! This is the right thing. We’ll be OK now…”

  And all around the room flames flickered, billowing toxic smoke. They licked up the curtains, they smoldered in the arm chair, they made small explosions as they engulfed the sofa, and crackled and surged with blue flames as they crawled rapidly up the legs of the dining table and chairs. There was a soft roar of flames that grew louder as the room was steadily consumed.

  I saw this all in a fraction of a second, and then I saw that the flames were creeping onto the bedcovers. I knew then that within minutes, the whole wooden house would be in flames, and I knew that within seconds, anybody in that room would be dead, first suffocated and then incinerated.

  I ran in.

  NINETEEN

  I ripped the covers off the bed and grabbed the old man with both hands by the scruff of his neck. He was heavy, heavier than I had expected. Like all the Reynolds, he was big. Billowing smoke was filling the room, belching from the drapes and the upholstery on the furniture, snaking from the varnished wood. I heaved again and dragged Reynolds toward me. He clawed at my arms and my shoulders, wailing incoherent noises and coughing violently.

  I heaved at him a third time. He seemed impossibly heavy. My lungs were demanding air. Then I saw that Samuel was across the bed, dragging at his father, screaming at him, “No, Daddy! You have to stay! This is our redemption! We have to be punished!”

  The heat was suffocating. The foot of the bed was now in flames. I dragged at the old man again and screamed at Samuel, “Let go!”

  I covered my mouth with my arm as I breathed in, but the acrid smoke tore at my throat, making me cough. Reynolds was thrashing and kicking, fighting to get away from his son, retching and trying to cover his mouth and nose. The smoke was so thick I could barely see the door. A dull pain was splitting my head and I knew it was from lack of oxygen. I grabbed Reynolds with both hands again and despair must have given me strength because I dragged him off the mattress and onto his feet. Samuel was half on the floor, coughing violently between wailing and calling out to God to cleanse him of his sins.

  Flames six feet high were engulfing the foot of the bed, wavering through the smoke. The heat was becoming intense. I knew I barely had seconds. Reynolds was clawing and clutching at me like a drowning man, dragging down his savior. He was at least as tall as I was and heavier. There was no way I could carry him. I shoved him and screamed in his face, “Run!” I pushed past him and he clung to me, dragging me back. Flames licked at our clothes. He was screaming in my ear, insane, incoherent noises. His arms were around my throat. My eyes were burning. I grabbed his arms, leaned forward so his feet were lifted off the ground and charged for where I knew the door was.

  I collided with a body. I heard Dehan shout, “Stone!” Then, hands were grabbing me, pulling me forward, and I fell in a heap in the hallway, with Reynolds on top of me. I pushed him off. Uniformed cops were seizing him, hauling him up and out of the house. I clambered to my feet, coughing and retching. Dehan was there, pulling on my arm. “We have to get out!”

  “Did you call the Fire Department?”

  “Yes! Come on!”

  I shoved her toward the door. “Go!”

  I ran down toward the kitchen. I turned the kitchen taps on full and filled a red plastic basin with water. I tipped it over my clothes and hair, soaked a tea towel and tied it around my nose and mouth and another around my head. Dehan was beside me, clutching my arm, screaming at me, “What the…? For crying out…! No, Stone! No!”

  I wrenched my arm free and ran. I think I was bellowing like a demented demon. I plunged into the room, hearing the wet tea towels hiss and steam on my face. The smoke was a dense fog. Through it, I could just see Samuel lying on the floor. The bed was in flames beside him. The flames were eight feet tall and licking the ceiling. All the furniture was on fire and the carpet on the floor was beginning to smolder. I took all this in in less t
han a second. I grabbed his ankles and pulled. He barely moved a couple of inches. I could feel my hands starting to blister in the heat. I knew in a few seconds, my clothes and the tea towels would dry and then burst into flames. I heaved again. I could see his hair was burning. I screwed up my eyes and heaved a third time, roaring like an insane thing, and now he moved and I was running backward as though his body had become weightless. Then I was crashing out of the room backwards, gasping for air and Dehan was shouting, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Keep running!”

  But even as we dragged him down the hall, cops were grabbing his shoulders off the floor and we were bundling him out into the blessed cold and the rain. There I half-dropped, half lowered him to the sidewalk and I staggered across the road, bent double, coughing violently and painfully. I took in the two fire trucks, the ambulance and the backup patrol cars, and I took in Dehan, removing the wet tea towels from her head and her face.

  “You are,” she said, between coughs, “The most obstinate man in the world!”

  I shook my head, wiping the rain from my face. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You’re welcome!”

  “I’m glad you did. Thanks.”

  “You’d be dead if I hadn’t, you dumb son of a bitch!”

  “I couldn’t let him burn to death, Dehan. Is he alive?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She jerked her chin toward the ambulance. Samuel was on a gurney with an oxygen mask over his face. We went over as he was being lifted into the ambulance. A red-haired paramedic glanced at me as we approached. I asked her, “Will he live?”

  “Yeah. He has some nasty burns and he’ll have a pretty bad hangover from the smoke. But he should be fine in a few days.”

  “How about his dad?”

  She pointed her chin at the inside of the ambulance. He was sitting up with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, watching his unconscious son being settled in beside him. He looked like he was in deep shock. I wiped my eyes and my mouth with the back of my sleeve and asked him, “Who’s your doctor, Mr. Reynolds?”