Joseph’s enthusiastic demeanor diminished. “Um… okay.”
“You don’t strike me as the bullying type.” Joseph lowered his head, but kept listening. “What happened at Saint Hedwig to make you want to hurt Cody?”
Joseph sighed and scratched the back of his hand. I waited briefly for his response, but he didn’t answer me.
“It’s important for me to know, Joseph.” The rain splattered on the windshield at a faster pace. I adjusted the windshield wipers to help increase my visibility. A bright flash lit up the southwestern sky. “Wow! That’s some crazy lightning there.”
“I don’t know why I did it,” he finally said.
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
The Charger hit a small pocket of water, causing the car to hydroplane. Joseph pressed himself into the seat and grabbed hold of the grip handle above the passenger side window. I eased off the accelerator to reduce my speed, and placed both hands on the steering wheel to maintain control.
“What do you know about Cody?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not a complicated question.” I glanced at Joseph, just as the tires hit another patch of water. “You had quite a bit to say about him before, so tell me. What do you know?”
Joseph turned away from me and stared out the passenger side window. For twenty seconds the only sounds inside the car came from the air vents, the rain pounding against the car, and the wipers bouncing back and forth as they cleared rainwater from the windshield.
“I know his parents were murdered,” he said, continuing to stare out the window. I could see the sadness on his face through the reflection on the glass. “I know his friends died at that cemetery, too. I also know that…” Joseph hesitated, and then continued, “Cody has a mark of the devil.”
“Mark of the devil? Who told you that?” He didn’t say anything. I glanced at him, but he was still looking out the window. “Go ahead, tell me.”
Joseph turned and faced me. “He has a birthmark in between his shoulders, just below his neck… an upside down cross.”
“And you probably saw the image of the Virgin Mary in your alphabet soup,” I cracked. “I think you’re reaching, son.”
“Fine, don’t believe me.” He returned his gaze out the passenger side window. “Check for yourself.”
We approached the county road that lead to Saint Hedwig Youth Home. I flipped the switch for my blinker, slowed down and turned onto the narrow road. Heavy sheets of rain danced in the headlight beams. With puddles of muddied water on both edges of the roadway, I maneuvered the car towards the center of the road, noting that it had no yellow dividing stripes. Thunder rocked the heavens, as the storm showed its wrath.
I focused on my driving for the rest of the trip to Saint Hedwig. I had no idea what else to say to the kid. He was convinced Cody had some voodoo curse on him, devil’s advocate or some nonsense like that. While I could agree that Cody wasn’t the most normal of kids, I also considered the reason why. He’d witnessed the brutal deaths of his parents and his friends. As far as I was concerned, regardless of what the official report stated, the case was still a crime until proven otherwise.
A security guard wearing a yellow rain coat and carrying a large umbrella waved a flashlight as I approached the guard station. He stepped up to my door and motioned me to lower the window. He held the umbrella over the vehicle, and I cracked the window open.
“Do you have an appoi—oh, it’s you,” he said.
After taking a closer look, I realized he was the same young security guard I had encountered during my first trip up here. “I guess they let you keep your job after all,” I quipped.
“Yeah, lucky me. I’m stuck out here in the middle of a thunderstorm for eight-fifty an hour.” He shined his light inside the car, and said, “Welcome back, Joey.”
Joseph gave the guard a nonchalant wave.
“Give me a sec and I’ll open the gate for you,” the guard said. He stepped inside the security booth, after nearly losing his umbrella when a strong gust of wind had tried to steal it away from him.
I smirked and closed the window. Seconds later the gates swung open.
“I don’t have an umbrella, so you’ll have to make a run for it.” I noticed a boy standing in the rain just inside the circular driveway court yard. “What the…?”As I pulled closer to the front door, I recognized the boy. “That’s Cody. What the hell is he doing out in the rain?”
Joseph jerked opened the passenger door as I rolled the car to a stop. He left the car door open and ran inside the building. After reaching over to pull the door closed, I scanned the courtyard, but I couldn’t find Cody.
With the engine idling, I stepped out of the car and yelled Cody’s name. The rain pelted my face and drenched my clothes. “Cody!” I called again. “What the hell are you doing outside?”
The double doors creaked open. Mr. Hadley stepped out to the covered porch. “What in Heaven’s name are you doing?” he yelled.
Lightning and thunder exploded overhead. That got my attention. I darted back to the car and shut off the engine. With the keys in my hand, I slammed the car door shut and headed towards the shelter of the building, while taking a final glance over my shoulder.
Mr. Hadley held the door open for me as I went inside. “Goodness! Your clothes are drenched,” he said. “What were you doing out there?”
“I saw Cody in the courtyard.”
“Impossible,” Mr. Hadley said flatly. “The boy is sound asleep in his room.”
“I know what I saw.” Or did I?
“Cody could not possibly be outside,” Mr. Hadley insisted. “He took his medication a few hours ago and has been slumbering ever since. I can take you to his room to confirm it, if you would like. But first…” Mr. Hadley motioned to a professionally dressed young lady standing next to Joseph by the reception desk.
“Cynthia, would you mind getting a towel out of the laundry room for Mr. Sanders?”
“I’d be happy to, Mr. Hadley.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mr. Hadley then asked me, “Would you like to borrow one of our robes and let us dry your clothing for you?”
“No, the towel will be fine. Thank you.”
Mr. Hadley then told Joseph to return to his room. “And don’t forget to recite your prayers,” he directed.
“Yes, sir.” Joseph glanced at me and then headed up the large stair case behind the reception desk. When he reached the staircase mezzanine, he stopped and stared at me for a moment, before rushing up the rest of the stairs to the next floor. I glanced at Mr. Hadley with suspicion. Had Joseph been trying to tell me something?
Cynthia returned from another corridor holding a large white towel, and handed it to me. “Here you go. By the way, I’m Cynthia White. I work with Maria. She told me you’d be bringing Joseph back home tonight.”
“Uh-huh.” I dried my hair with the oversized towel and then wrapped it around me. “What else did she tell you?”
“Nothing much, but I think she likes you.” Cynthia winked at me broadly. “I’ll take you to Cody’s room now.”
“Whoa, hold on there. What exactly did she tell you?”
“We’re on official business here, Mr. Sanders. Let’s go make sure Cody is safe and sound in his bedroom. Then we can let the night staff hold down the fort, and we can all go home.”
I sensed Mr. Hadley eyeing me, and quickly glared back at him. “Not a word,” I said.
“Your personal relationships are between you and the Lord, Mr. Sanders. It is none of my concern.”
“Damn right, it’s not.”
I followed Mr. Hadley and Miss White up the stairs and down the hall to Cody’s room. When we reached his door, I noticed a red light on the keypad. I found it a bit disturbing that they locked the kids in their rooms like that, but that would have to be a topic for another discussion.
Mr. Hadley punched a few numbers on the keypad and s
wiped his security card through the slot. The lock clicked and the light turned green. The director pushed the door open and motioned for me to step inside. Flickers of lightning seeped through the curtains and illuminated the interior of the room, revealing someone asleep in one of the beds. I reached for the light switch, but Mr. Hadley grabbed my arm.
“Get your hand off me,” I ordered.
The director released his grip and said, “I apologize, but I do not believe it is necessary to turn on the light. You’ll wake him. You may go inside and see for yourself that Cody is in his bed.”
I glanced at the social worker and then back at Hadley before entering the room. Muffled thunder shook the walls of the old building as more flashes of lightning lit the room. Ignoring the director’s request, I walked over to the desk and reached for the lamp switch.
“Detective.”
“Oh, don’t get your loin cloth all in a wad. I’ll switch it to low.”
The director huffed as I turned the small knob underneath the lampshade. As soon as the light came on, I quickly turned the small knob to dim the light to its lowest setting. Cody slept on his stomach with the bed sheet pulled just over his waist, his arms wrapped around the pillow.
“You see,” Mr. Hadley said. “Sound asleep. Now, if you don’t mind, Detective Sanders,” he said, with emphasis on my name, “I would like to return to my quarters. I believe Mrs. White would like to get home before the roads flood over.”
“All right, fine. I’m just going to cover him up real quick.”
“Cynthia, would you see the detective out?” Mr. Hadley then addressed me, “You have a pleasant evening, Mr. Sanders.”
“Hasta luego, padre.”
As soon as the director left, I grabbed the bed sheet and lifted it towards Cody’s shoulders. I then pulled down on the collar of his t-shirt.
“What’re you doing?” Cynthia said in protest.
“Just trying to confirm something.”
“Confirm what?”
I waved her off and scolded her with my eyes before focusing my attention back to Cody’s upper back. I lowered the collar of his t-shirt again and whispered to myself, “I knew that kid was full of—”
Then a series of lightning flashes revealed a dark birth mark in between Cody’s shoulder blades, just below the base of his neck. It wasn’t a perfect depiction of what Joseph had described, but the birth mark did look like an inverted cross. I released Cody’s shirt as he rolled over on his side and adjusted his pillow under his head. He groaned and rolled over on his back.
“What is it?” Cynthia asked. “Something wrong?”
“No, everything’s okay,” I said, turning off the lamp.
Cody’s breathing deepened. Then he groaned again.
Cynthia stepped inside the room, but I told her, “Let’s go. He’s fine.” Before I shut the door behind me, I glanced back inside as more lightning lit up the boy’s room. I breathed a heavy sigh and shut the door. “I need to get some sleep.”
“Not to mention get out of those wet clothes,” Cynthia said.
I glanced at her and pulled the towel off me, draping it over my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cynthia escorted me to my car with a large umbrella so I wouldn’t have to re-soak the clothes I had just partially dried. As soon as I was safely inside the vehicle, I watched her scurry over to her red Ford Escort. As high as the heels she wore increased her altitude, and the way the wind blew her umbrella around, I was surprised she didn’t pull a Mary Poppins right there in front of me. She struggled to get the umbrella closed and let a good amount of rainwater inside the car, before she managed to fold the umbrella.
I followed the red Escort around the circular drive and towards the front gate. Suddenly, Cody’s image appeared in my rearview mirror again. He was standing in soaked pajamas just inside the courtyard. I stepped on the brake pedal and turned around in my seat. Cody had disappeared. There was nothing but rain, thunder and lightning. No boy standing in the rain. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head. “Get a grip on yourself, Aaron,” I mumbled.
I released the brake pedal and gently stepped on the accelerator, all the while glancing in the rearview mirror multiple times. Cody didn’t appear in the courtyard again. I continued towards the open front gate, and the security guard waved at me as I drove by. I lifted my hand, acknowledging his gesture, and drove away into the storm.
†
It took me over an hour to get home, due to the heavy rains and a car accident on I-35. A yellow Mustang, or what was left of it, had found the rear end of a black Dodge Ram on the far right lane of the interstate. The rear wheels of the truck rested inside the passenger compartment of the American sports car. The driver was still pinned inside the vehicle. It didn’t look good for him, and I guessed he would probably never make it home.
Vehicle accidents had always struck a nerve in me. People texting on their phones, putting on make-up, fiddling with other devices in the car—even talking to their passengers—had resulted in hundreds of deaths in Texas over the past decade. It had made me realize how fragile the human body was. Just a matter of a split-second of inattention often meant life or death on the highway. It was why I’d usually left the radio off, kept both hands on the steering wheel, and reduced my speed several miles per hour lower than the posted limit.
The rain had subsided somewhat by the time I drove my car behind my townhouse apartment. It was one-thirty in the morning; I was exhausted, and hungry. My dinner had consisted of overpriced popcorn and soda, and I hadn’t shopped for groceries in over a week. A couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches would have to do.
The garage door opened ever so slowly, as my eyelids grew heavy, and my stomach complained about the empty-gauge flashing signals to my brain, warning me to fill up. Finally, the door finished its ascent and the garage welcomed the storm-beaten blue Charger inside. I shut off the engine, uttered a loud yawn, and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.
As I stepped out of the car, something hard struck the back of my head, knocking me unconscious.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cellar
“Wake up, pig!”
I opened my eyes, and the world came slowly back into focus. Pain throbbed from the back of my head. I also felt a stinging sensation above my right brow. My head drooped down from dizziness, but then I raised it and looked around.
Robert Smith stood several feet away, holding a pistol to his side. I recognized the gun, a Glock 17. Smith wore a black tunic and a gold pendant—adorned with a pentacle and an inverted pentagram—hanging from a gold necklace.
I was in a room with concrete walls, tied to a wooden chair that sat on a floor made of stone and dirt. In front of me, a stone staircase rose along a far wall, leading upward into darkness. A small metal table stood nearby, atop which lay five ornate daggers of equal length. Candles flickered along the outer edge of the floor lining the concrete walls giving the room a surprisingly bright luminescence. Five more candles in small metal holders burned on the outer ring of a stonemasonry pentacle on the floor a few feet away. A pentagram appeared burned into the stone within the inner circle, a silver goblet set in the middle of it.
I tried to stand, but the rope tied around my legs, and the duct tape wrapped around my chest securing me to the back of the wooden chair, left me little wiggle room. Smith had also apparently secured my arms behind my back with more rope; I felt the bristles biting into my wrists.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said, struggling to get free. “Cut me loose, you son of a bitch!”
“Now, now,” Smith said, smiling. ”There’s no need for name calling. Besides, we’ll have plenty of time for cutting later.”
“Is this about Jackson? Is that it? Look, I understand that you’re upset, but I had nothing to—”
“You shut the hell up!” Smith stepped around the pentacle and pointed the barrel of the gun toward me. “You have no idea what it means to lose a child. Your
careless investigation cost me my firstborn and—”
“Let’s talk about this investigation, shall we, Bob?” I shifted in the chair and continued to wriggle my wrists behind me. “It’s damned obvious that you’re a member of Lucifer’s inner circle, with this whole voodoo satanic bullshit.”
“You know nothing about the Prince of Darkness or his teachings, so don’t try to lecture me, Detective. Christians have shed far more blood than has been spilled in all of the rituals ever performed in the Church of Satan combined. Millions of people have died throughout history in the name of the Christian God.” Smith stepped behind me and spoke into my ear. “The difference between Christianity and Satanism is that we don’t pretend to be something we’re not.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He stepped around the chair to face me. “Christians go to church and lift their hands, sing praises to the Almighty God, try to act all holy. But as soon as the preacher says ‘Amen’, they act no different from any other pathetic person who’s never stepped inside a church. Hypocrites! That’s what they are.” He paced the floor in front of me. “So-called Christian ministers preach salvation to their congregations and pass judgment for the sins of their mindless flocks, all while these holier-than-thou clergymen steal from their treasuries, cheat on their wives, and molest our children. It is those same Christian hypocrites that we should purge from this world for true peace to prevail. But no, they fight wars and kill each other, all in the name of their pathetic God.”
“What makes you any different than what you’ve just described? Killing innocent people in the name of Satan? Is that what you plan on doing to me? Offer me as a sacrifice to the Devil? Murder me because you can’t accept the death of your son as a natural—”
“There was nothing natural about Jackson’s death, you imbecile!” Smith growled. “You caused his death by insisting on accusing him of killing those kids.”
“Those kids had names… Cullen Chandler and Jason Dexter. But then again, you would know that, since you were there. Who was the third one?”
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