The Messenger (2011 reformat)

by Edward Lee

  "Ms. Willoughby was apprehended shortly thereafter by police officers under the charge of Chief Steve Higgins. She was later checked into the psychiatric wing of the Pinellas County Detention Center, for evaluation and treatment."

  "This is just beyond belief," someone said.

  Jane and several employees sat stunned around the TV in her office. It was like watching news footage of a bombing in the Middle East but then the worse reality set in. Every detail was familiar. This was a place they'd all seen before, and these were people they'd seen before. This was not the Middle East. It was their hometown.

  "It's the craziest thing I've ever seen in my life," someone else muttered. "I can't believe what I'm seeing with my own eyes. Christ, I was at that police station a few days ago to pay a parking fine. Look at the place now."

  On the TV, the police station was a blown-out blackened hulk. The newscaster continued her grim report. "-and county fire investigators suspect the use of an incendiary bomb, a device specifically designed to burn fast and do as much fire-damage as possible before firefighters can arrive."

  Closer shots of the blackened building.

  "And we're supposed to believe that Sarah-little tiny bubbly Sarah-did that? Killed all those people and did all that damage?"

  "She was so nice," someone else said. "But in that footage? She looked demented, totally out of her mind-"

  Yeah, Jane thought. Out of her mind. A satanic cult member. Her face was drawn and pale. It was everyone's consensus. This could not be happening here...but it was. "It's got to be a mistake," she muttered lamely.

  "It's no mistake."

  The additional voice in the room startled them. Jane turned, saw Steve standing grim-faced in the doorway. Everyone got back to their duties when Jane asked them to, leaving her and Steve alone. But Jane couldn't have felt more uncomfortable either way. Don't even mention the bit with the blonde, she told herself. You're not involved with him anymore, you're not even friends. This is strictly professional, so act the part. "I think I should go see her-Sarah, I mean. I need to talk to her."

  Steve had helped himself to some coffee and sat down. "That's not advisable, Jane. She's delirious. She's stark-raving mad."

  "I don't care. I've got to see her, find out why she did this. I've known her for years. She'll sure as hell talk to me before she'll talk to some psych-ward goon, and she's not going to talk to the police. I need you to get me a visitor's pass."

  "No way. Jane, she's in the psych ward of the county prison. That place is a freak show."

  Jane wasn't sure what was compelling her. Perhaps it was just the need to feel like she was doing something rather than sitting around and watching it all happen. Maybe if I'd been closer to Marlene and Carlton, and kept a closer eye on Martin-maybe none of this would've happened. She looked right at Steve and in her most stolid voice said, "If I ever meant anything to you, you'll do this for me."

  "Jane, you do mean something to me. You mean a lot."

  "Yeah, I saw how much yesterday, when you were making out with your sister."

  Steve shook his head. "You're being paranoid, Jane. I wasn't making out, for God's sake. It was a hug and a peck on the cheek. And she is my sister. I haven't seen her in a year; she lives with her husband and two boys in Bellingham, Washington. Why is that so hard to believe?"

  Jane supposed it wasn't that hard to believe, really. Nevertheless, she didn't.

  "Would you please just get me into the detention center to talk to Sarah? You should want me to anyway. You'll want information, right? I know her better than anyone there or in your department. It'd be to your advantage too."

  "I can't do it," he insisted. "It's too dangerous. And let's not talk about that now, let's talk about our relationship-"

  "Steve, there is no relationship-"

  "Let's at least talk about it..." He reached across the desk, touched her hand, which she instantly pulled away.

  "There's nothing to talk about," she said again.

  Steve sighed in frustration. "All right, look, I'll get you a cred pass so you can see Sarah. I'll pick you up tonight and take you there myself. And on the way, we'll talk about our relationship."

  Jane felt tugged by opposing horses, about to be pulled apart. "Steve, even if there was a relationship between the two of us, we've both got a lot more to worry about, don't we? Good Lord, people are getting killed, and several of my employees are responsible. Not to mention one of my DPS handlers didn't show up for work today, and I've still got no idea what happened to Martin."

  Steve was suddenly reminded of something. "Oh, jeez. With the explosion at the station and all, I completely forgot."

  "Forgot what?"

  "We found Martin Parkins, Jane. We found his body this morning in the woods behind Bowen Field."

  "His body? You mean he's-"

  "He's dead, murdered. Someone jammed a pen in his eye and drove it straight through to his brain."

  Pen, Jane thought. In the eye.

  "That's horrible," she said stonily.

  "All too often, horrible things happen to horrible people," Steve said. "What goes around comes around. It may have been a prostitute who did it. At his apartment we found Polaroids of a lot of local prostitutes. We took the pictures into the county sheriff's department and they told us that a few of the girls have been reported missing. Could be that he was killing some of these girls, and it could be that-"

  Jane made the morbid conclusion on her own. "That last night he picked one up, tried something violent, but she defended herself."

  "Exactly. It's impossible to say for sure but it's starting to look like that."

  Jane felt bad for Martin's tragedy; it didn't matter that she'd never liked him. But in the back of her mind, the coincidence heckled her. That weird dream I had last night... She'd dreamed that Martin had been molesting her and-and I stuck a pen in his eye...

  "So what about Sarah Willoughby?" Steve asked.

  The comment snapped her train of thought. "Well, I just asked if you could get me in to see her, and you said you would."

  "I'll get you in." He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be back around seven when I'm off duty, to pick you up."

  Steve drove in his unmarked police car, the scanner turned way down. Jane rode next to him, in silence. She didn't know about this at all, yet it was her own doing. Don't complain, Jane. You're the one who asked. She simply felt compelled to see Sarah, to talk to her. Maybe she could get some answers that no one else was getting: about her state of mind, about her connection to Marlene, Carlton, and Martin-who were all dead now-and about the cult or whatever it was.

  She had to take Steve into consideration, too, which only made the situation more stressful. He had an awful day, too, she reminded herself. His station house was bombed and he lost several men.

  "Looks like all we've got right now," he said ironically, "is each other."

  In a sense, he was right. One tragic puzzle after another was falling on them both. And neither of them knew what was going on. Only guesses, only speculations that weren't doing either of them any good.

  "The woman you saw me with is my sister; her name's Ginny," Steve said, breaking into her concerns. "Believe me. I'll prove it."

  Jane felt bushwhacked. "How?"

  "She's in town for another week. I'll take you to meet her. We'll go out to dinner, the three of us. I told her all about you-she wants to meet you anyway"

  She didn't know what to say. Could it be true? It has to be. Something like that would be too easy to verify.

  She took his hand. "I'd like that. I'm sorry I overreacted. I guess the past week-"

  "The past week has been too much for both of us. We never saw it coming; how could we? Things will be fine."

  Suddenly Jane felt content and wonderful. She'd simply overreacted to a landslide of stresses and hadn't managed herself well once she'd become involved with him. His hand over hers tightened.

  Oh, Jesus...Then she remembered the reason she'd come to
see him at his office in the first place. "I forgot to tell you. That man... He came to see me yesterday."

  "What man?"

  "Alexander Dhevic."

  His expression turned stern. "Christ, Jane! I told you that guy was a flake! He's dangerous! You should've told me. If that guy ever comes to your office again, you call me right away. The guy's a nut. He's either playing the murders up for his next book or documentary, or he's part of it himself."

  "It's just what he said, and maybe even the way he said it-"

  "He's an actor, Jane. He's a con man. Don't listen to him, don't let him get to you-"

  "He said the murders were demonic too. He had a picture of the bell; it was an engraving from a very old book-"

  "And let me guess, he told you it was the symbol for some demon."

  "Yes. Aldezhor, the Messenger of hell. I mean, come on, Steve, the devil's equivalent of the Archangel Gabriel. A demon messenger, working through postoffice employees? What are post-office employees?"

  "Messengers, I know. He laid the same bunch of jive on us twenty years ago. It's a crock of shit. He's trying to make himself famous as some renowned expert on the occult. Any time there's a series of bizarre murders in the country, he acts like he knows all about it so he can get big fees on these tabloid shows."

  Jane couldn't believe what she said next. "I think he's psychic or something-"

  "He's a shaman! He's a fake! Guys like Dhevic know how to get under people's skin-it's their profession. Don't fall for his crap!"

  She knew he was right, but the details of Dhevic's visit kept pecking at her. She recalled what he'd said, just before he left: He will manipulate you through your fears, your weaknesses, and your dreams. "He said something about dreams, that this demon-er, actually a fallen angel-exploits people through their dreams."

  "So does Freddy Krueger, but I don't believe in him either-"

  "No, no, you don't understand. At my office, you told me that Martin was killed by someone stabbing him in the eye with a pen. Well, last night..."

  Steve was getting testy. "Last night, what?"

  "Last night I dreamed that Martin was trying to rape me, but...I defended myself by sticking a pen in his eye."

  "It's a coincidence, Jane! Forget about all this!"

  She squeezed her memory harder, to remember more of the nightmare. There'd been two men with her, hadn't there? Martin.

  And someone else.

  Someone else with features so hideous it made her sick to think of them. And Dehvic had told her that Aldezhor was hideous to look at.

  "Then another thing," she went on. "He knew about Matt, my husband. He mentioned him-it was almost like he showed me a vision-"

  "Come on! Dhevic's playing you!"

  "How could he know about my husband?"

  "Research, Jane. That's what these guys do to make their living. They make people believe that they know things they couldn't possibly know. Then you'll think he's clairvoyant or psychic or whatever."

  "Okay, but why? Why would this man, a perfect stranger to me, and someone I could do nothing for, go to all that trouble?"

  Steve paused. "Well...I don't know. Did he ask you for anything? Money? Information about the murders? Did he ask to interview you for a book or show?"

  "No, nothing like that," she said. "But he did ask me for access to the post office."

  Steve gave her a puzzled look. "What the hell for?"

  "I'm not sure. He said he wanted to look for something, something about the bell."

  Steve winced at the wheel. "Look, I dealt with his guy Dhevic twenty years ago. He was a flake then, and he's a flake now. Just steer clear of him. Don't listen to him. Next time you see him, call me immediately."

  Before she could say more, Steve was slowing down for a turn. Had an hour passed since they'd been driving? The sun was going down.

  "Here we are," he said. "Inside, the cons call this place the Concrete Ramada."

  They were driving down a service road lined with high fences that were fronted and topped by heaping coils of razor wire. In the security lights, the wire was pretty; it shimmered like Christmas tinsel. Beyond, she could see the multistoried detention center, a hulk of beige cement and slit-like windows. Steve showed his badge at a security gate, then pulled in. When he parked in the visitor's lot, he squeezed her hand and said, "Let's go."

  Inside, Steve processed them both, checked in his gun, and got floor passes for them both. An elevator took them to the top floor, but as they were going up each preceding level, Jane could hear a roar like a football game but then she realized it was merely the vocal chaos of the general population. It was an ugly sound. She was relieved by the silence when the door slid open on the top floor.

  A stark sign told them: Cell-BLOCK 6D-PSYCH EVAL & DETENTION.

  Eventually a stocky detention officer took them down a clean, antiseptic-scented hallway. White metal doors lined the hall, and when he stopped at one, a buzzer blared and someone snapped inside the door.

  "Just so you know, this one's probably never even going to be arraigned," the officer told them.

  "Why?" Steve asked.

  "She psychotic."

  "CDS induced?"

  "Not like I've ever seen. She's delirious, hallucinatory, and doing a lot of word salad, but her blood screen was negative for drugs. She's also very violent, so be careful. We got her on a hundred mg's of Loxapine, enough to mellow out Attila the Hun, and she's still trying to bite her way out of the straitjacket."

  "I'll be careful," Jane said.

  "I'm going in with you," Steve told her.

  "No. If she's in a straitjacket, she can't hurt me. She knows me, she'll talk to me. Just let me do this on my own. If there's a problem-"

  "Hit the buzzer on the wall," the detention officer said. "Stay near the buzzer."

  Jane walked into the cell. It was just like the movies: shiny white padding lined the walls and floor. Sunlight came down from a single high window.

  The door slunked shut behind her.

  II

  The sight of Sarah as a violent psychiatric patient was just like the movies too. She sat huddled in one corner, white utility pants, barefoot. Her once-pretty blond hair looked a wreck, and her arms were wrapped around herself in a canvas straitjacket, whose shoulders she was chewing on. When Jane walked in, Sarah snapped her gaze up and grinned.

  She was cross-eyed.

  "Sarah, for God's sake, what happened?" Jane said right out.

  "Not for God's sake."

  "Then for whose?"

  "The Messenger's sake."

  The Messenger, Jane thought. "You mean Aldezhor?"

  Sarah's eyes raged. "Don't ever say his name! Never! His name is a holy thing! We are not worthy to speak it! It's a secret that must never pass our lips!"

  "I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't know that."

  "If you speak his name again, I'll tear my way out of this thing and suck your brains out of your ears!"

  "I won't speak it again, I promise." Jane's heart stepped up at each outburst; her adrenaline surged. "But I'd like to ask you something, Sarah. You set off a bomb at the police station today. You killed several people. Why?"

  "Fodder," Sarah replied. "Meat for the grist of my lord's mill. But I've done my part. We all have."

  "You've done your part for what?"

  "For him. For the Messenger, and the sending of his wondrous message. He walks the earth through us. We are his messengers."

  Jane stared at the macabre figure that was once her employee and friend.

  "He's back," Sarah said. "We're bringing him back," and then her face turned maroon as she struggled in the straitjacket. There was a creaking sound along with several ugly cracks! and that's when Jane realized that Sarah was breaking her own bones...

  "Stop it!" Jane yelled.

  Sarah was manipulating her fractured arms now, shucking herself out of the jacket. She didn't react at all to the imponderable pain-all she did was grin, never taking her eyes off of J
ane.

  Fear paralyzed Jane. Her brain screamed at her to lunge for the alarm but she couldn't. Sarah's insane glare held her in a dizzy rigor. When she gets out of that, she's going to kill you, Jane realized, but still she couldn't move. Then Sarah rose to her feet, shrugged out of the straitjacket. She stood bare-chested, her breasts heaving, laved in sweat and blotched by scuffmarks. Her arms flopped at her sides as if multi-jointed now, shards of bones sticking out of the skin, blood running. Her hand flexed, then she squeezed her eyes shut and raised an arm, tentacle-like, and-

  "Stop it!" Jane shouted.

  With thumb and index finger, Sarah broke off one of her front teeth and then-

  "Stop!"

  -used the jagged edge to cut herself. On the flat of her abdomen, she calmly etched the shape of a bell and a star-shaped striker.

  "Behold the Messenger, Jane," croaked the voice that was anyone's but hers. "The arrival of the Messenger is at hand."

  Next, Sarah slowly inserted an index finger into her left eye socket, pushing, pushing, until the thin bowl-shaped bone snapped. The finger burrowed into the brain.

  Sarah grinned one last time, then toppled over dead.

  Chapter Twenty

  I

  Steve tucked her into bed, only the bedside lamp on. He held Jane's hand as he sat beside her, the long day weighing on them both.

  Jane shook slightly beneath the sheets. She was tired of seeing death.

  "You look really pale, Jane. Should I call Dr. Mitchell?"

  "No," she said. "I'll be all right. This is just too much. I can't handle seeing my employees kill themselves."

  "I know." He looked at her more deeply. "I probably should call the doctor. You might be in shock or something."