They weren't the man that they needed—but the limo had been outside.
“He's here somewhere,” Damianos said. “Let's fan out.”
Damianos switched on the lights of the building, hoping to make their task just a little bit easier on them.
“Everybody, just hold on for a few minutes, okay? Help is coming and then you all can go home.” Damianos said to the panicked people still bound on the floor.
Words were spray painted onto the walls of the room. Among them were passages of the Bible, some that seemed surprisingly relevant to the case while others looked like nothing more than confused musings of a madman. Damianos couldn't help but think about the horrors that had taken place in the room. This was the second set of victims that they knew of but how many more could there have possibly been?
“Andre!” Came John's voice—Dominos’ real name meant it was urgent.
**
“I think it's him.”
When Damianos caught up with John, they were in a backroom of the building and there he was—the man they needed, cowering like a slug in a back office. His white and red robes were gathered around him like a pile of leaves, failing to fully conceal himself. He was crouching in fear, his eyes watery with anger and disdain, tears running into his beard.
The thirteenth apostle. The messenger of death. Judas.
“You're in very big trouble, pal.” Damianos said.
“I do not answer to the laws of man! Only God may judge me!” He spat. “The tamer, bah! You have no power in his domain, pretender! You are false! You needed to be shown the punishment that awaits you!”
“Is that why you asked Carlo to get me directly? You don't like me very much do you?”
“All those who are false deserve to be punished. All those who are false deserved to be punished. All those were are false deserve to be punished.” The man seemed to be in a trance-like state, staring at the floor and rocking back and forth.
“Was Carlo false? The man you crucified and mutilated?” Damianos felt his blood boiling.
“That swine consorted with demons, thus, he is a demon himself. Selling his soul to those who turn their back on God!” The man's attention returned to the floor. “All those who are false deserved to be punished. All those who are false deserve to be punished.”
Not long ago, Damianos would've laughed at the man's ramblings if he hadn't proven to be an absolute monster. Damianos kept his gun aimed on the bearded man. He wanted a reason, any reason to take the shot. If the psycho didn't want to answer to him, he'd happily have him answer to God.
“Frankly, I don't think God would like you very much.” Damianos said.
“I am his Apostle! His warrior and I will strike down all those who would bring evil to his creation! I am an archangel that will cast the evils away into the pit! I cast you sinners into Hell!”
The “Apostle” exploded out of the pile of cloth, a knife in his hand. Again, Damianos wanted to shoot him dead for all of the deaths, and Carlo's maiming. It's what the man deserved for callously murdering and claiming it was for a righteous cause. There was nothing Damianos was annoyed by more than killers blaming someone else for the atrocities they committed themselves. God was not a valid reason to kill innocent people.
The “Apostle” drew closer and Damianos felt his fingers tighten on his trigger. It would be so easy—feel so good—to do it.
In the end, though, Damianos decided a leg wound would be enough.
A bullet flew into the air and hit the “Apostle” in his thigh, causing him to trip in front of Damianos. John grabbed the knife and pinned the screaming man to the floor, cuffing his arms behind his back, neutralizing any threat that he posed.
“No! You can't judge me! Only God can judge! Only God!”
**
“You are all sinners! You have no right to this life you have been given! Sinners! Devils! You are all devils!”
The car ride had been a long one. The “Apostle” relentlessly shouted from the backseat of the car, writhing and contorting violently, like a wounded animal in a cage. He looked far more like a beast than a man.
“We're devils? You murdered a whole lot of people...six couples, if I'm remembering correctly. Thought that was against the Bible. Thou shall not murder innocent people, or what not? Didn't think it was something that got the divine approval from your lord above.” Damianos said, trying to turn his disdain and urge to shoot the man into sarcastic daggers.
“Murder!? No! God asked me to punish them! To punish those adulterers for their sins! Adultery is a sin! It is a grave sin indeed! Those sinners—those devils—had to be punished as Lucifer was for their corrupted beings! They deserved it all! From 666 to infinity, I would have purged the beasts! Removed their feet so they could never again walk the Earth in peace!”
“You'll never walk the Earth in peace from this point on either, you know that right? You'll have even more time to converse with God. Yippie.” Damianos said with a chuckle to himself.
“Hell doesn't scare me! I have already repented for my sins! There are no more to punish! I have been forgiven for any transgressions in my life! Heaven waits for me! Heaven waits for me!”
There was no point in arguing with someone who supposedly had God backing him.
Damianos decided to just let the man keep rambling on in the back, ignoring his almost incoherent screams. He was happy knowing that some of the living victims were being rescued and cared for as they drove. He'd never look at a shoe box the same way but at least, there wouldn't be any more with missing feet inside.
“Thanks for being my legs all week.” Damianos said to his partner.
John just gave his usual thin smile while he drove. With a slight nod that said “you're welcome”, he hummed to himself. John Avers was a good partner because he was very efficient at covering up any worry or doubts he had. It was a false air of confidence and that kept him calm and collected during any case. It was only in rare moments such as now that peeked into him having to cope with what he had seen.
Damianos didn't blame John for being a bit rattled. Very few cases in their past had compared to the brutality of what they had just witnessed. Almost as disturbing as the actual deaths had been the idea that religion, faith, and God had motivated such violence. It wasn't a new idea at all, having been present to many atrocities throughout time. It was just horrifying to come face to face with such evil acts in the name of so-called God.
It was impossible to deny that the case had certainly been a long and grueling one. Damianos wasn't really one for religion or faith but he was thankful that it was all over.
Most of all, he was thankful to have both his feet—even if one of them still hurt like hell.
Book 7: Scarecrow
CHAPTER ONE
Birds were always so interesting to watch. Their wings cutting through the sky, flying completely free from all restrictions—not beholden by having their feet on the ground.
Honestly, Rose and Darla were jealous.
When it came down to it, that's why they enjoyed bird-watching so much. It was being able to vicariously live through those creatures—to go wherever they wanted to go—to soar higher than they could ever imagine. It must have been so satisfying to drift with the winds and to leave your troubles down below.
One weekend a month, Rose and her friend Darla would take a road trip upstate to be an audience to the wonders of the sky. They were on their way back from one such trip, having had a great, relaxing time away from San Diego.
It didn't seem like the bird-watching was quite done yet, though.
It was a black bird that immediately caught Rose's eye, a crow, gliding just over the wheat field they were passing. Its dark wings seemed to be begging for her attention, practically flying parallel to the car. She followed its trajectory above the wheat to a scarecrow perched on a comb gibbet.
The scarecrow seemed rather terrible at its job. Over a dozen crows swarmed around its h
ead, some even resting on its arms or pecking at its face. They certainly didn't seem to fear it.
“That's weird,” Rose said with an amused smile. “Darla, do you mind slowing down for a minute? Something strange is going on. Want to be able to get a closer look.”
While Rose pulled out the binoculars she always brought on the weekend trips, Darla brought the car to a complete step at the top of the tractor path that led into and around the field. Rose raised her binoculars and peered through them, getting a closer look at the murder of crows.
What she saw was far stranger than the crows' behavior.
Rose put her binoculars down, shook her head in disbelief. She had to be seeing things; a trick of the light, perhaps. She had to be sure, so raised the binoculars up to her eyes once more.
Yet, there was the same horrifying image in the lens.
“Darla...” She said, only managing a shaky whisper. “Darla, please tell me you don't see this. Please.”
Rose wearily handed over the binoculars to her friend and Darla had a look for herself. When she lowered the binoculars, her pale face affirmed that she had seen exactly what Rose had.
“What should we do?” Darla asked, her entire body trembling.
“...drive closer...see if there's anything we can do to help him.”
When they pulled up to the scarecrow—they discovered that there was no help they could have given.
The poor man was strung up on the post like a scarecrow, whatever life he had had was long gone. The crows seemed to take turns eating away at his exposed skin. Half of his face had already been consumed by the feathered scavengers.
Both women were paralyzed by the sight. They knew the man—Lamont Duffield.
After a few minutes, Rose composed herself enough to get out of the car and walk toward the comb gibbet over which Duffield had been attached. With each step, his appearance grew more and more mangled.
The crows seemed to fear her as little as the “scarecrow” and remained picking away at the man, as if given supreme confidence by the feast. They glared down at the woman, as if she was interrupting their lunch.
Rose didn't want to get any closer. The crows were unsettling enough but it was the gruesome corpse that she would never forget. Besides being picked apart by birds, there was another very memorable image—his chest had been impaled by a pitchfork.
If Rose looked at him any longer, her body would give way to the woozy feeling that was beginning to spin her surroundings. She had to get away, had to find help. There was nothing she could do for the poor soul but it had to be reported. Rose turned back toward the car, seeing Darla's petrified expression in the driver's seat.
Luckily, Rose knew exactly who to call—her nephew at the San Diego Police Station, Detective Andre Russell.
**
Detective Andre Russell—known more widely as Damianos, the tamer—was initially happy to hear his aunt's voice on the phone. It was a nice to hear a friendly and innocent voice, to step away, even for a moment, from the nickname that had been attributed to his efficient and relentless detective work.
Damianos listened to his aunt's story with amusement at first. The old dear had obviously been watching way too many horror movies when she wasn't watching birds out of her friends' gardens. It wasn't until she mentioned that she knew the “scarecrow”, that Damianos realized it was more than just an old woman's imagination playing tricks.
“You knew him?” Damianos straightened in his chair.
“Yes, yes, Lamont Duffield!” The name meant nothing to Damianos but the fact she knew him definitely meant something. “Poor young man, poor young man. Stabbed with a pitchfork. I've never seen anything like it!” She said, her voice hoarse with fear. “It was like he might as well have been made of straw, the way it went through him! Does it always look like that, Andre!?”
Damianos couldn't stand to hear his aunt in such terror. Growing up, she had always seemed so calm and happy with life, a great comfort to a young boy. It was always nice having her around during the holidays. It wasn't right that a woman who had always been so carefree now seemed to have an entire mountain on her back.
“Listen, Aunt Rose. I'm on my way. Where is the field?” Damianos asked.
When she finally composed herself long enough to give him a general location, Damianos did his best to keep her calm.
“Aunt Rose—Rose—please, listen. I need you to take your friend and get home. Pour yourself a glass of wine, or a cup of tea, anything to help relax. I know that seems impossible right now but it's the only thing you can do for now. Everything will be handled. Just get home and keep as calm as possible.” Damianos had never expected to have to comfort his aunt. How times had changed from when she'd help tuck him in to bed. “I'll come and see you later, I promise.”
Just as Damianos hung up the phone, his partner John Avers, came storming up, well dressed and looking as rigid as ever. His face was especially stern which was never a good sign. It meant that he was focused on something, usually a case.
“We have just received a call from someone saying that there's a dead person strung up like a scarecrow in a cornfield.”
Damianos couldn't believe his partner's words.
“Really?” Damianos peered down at his phone. “I just got a call from my aunt...with a very similar story.”
Avers had his notepad out and at the ready before Damianos even had a chance to proceed. He recounted what his aunt had told him and John readily transferred the story into writing. Once he had written everything down, they compared those notes with the once John had taken when he had received the call. They were remarkably similar, and even in close vicinity to one another.
“Definitely not a coincidence.” John said, in his usual no-nonsense manner.
“Gee, John, you think?” Damianos chuckled. “I thought corpses being strung up like scarecrows was just another day at the office. Now, what do you say we go get our own look at these sites?”
The cornfield, John's call, was the first stop on the way. It wasn't long before they found the “scarecrow” and it was hard to believe it was once a real person. It's face was torn apart to the point of being almost unrecognizable. The victim's mother wouldn't even be able to identity her son.
Crows hovered above the cornfield, cawing in anticipation to get another bite of their meal.
Once their initial examination had been finished, they moved on to the wheat field up the road where his Aunt Rose had been. While on the way, Damianos phoned his associates Dr. James Darby, the medical examiner, and Alan Davros, the Crime Lab Chief Examiner. Both would be essential in any further study of the bodies. They would be at the first site in the corn field within the hour—hopefully before the crows devoured too much more of the body.
Pulling up to the wheat field, they were greeted by a crow flying overhead and dropping what looked like a human finger onto the windshield as it did.
Off to a great start. Damianos thought.
John pulled the car to a stop and nudged Damianos. They turned to find a sheriff's car pulled up behind them. The sheriff stepped out of his car, having a particularly straight posture and looking very serious in his expression as he approached.
“Friend of yours?” Damianos asked John with a smirk.
“Never. Looks way too stuck up.” John said.
“...I think you guys would get along wonderfully...” Damianos said under his breath.
The partners nodded to each other before getting out of the car to greet the sheriff.
CHAPTER TWO
“We've been made aware of the two human scarecrows. They're drawing a lot of attention.” Sheriff Lynn Anderson said.
“Right?” Damianos said. “It's like every crow on the planet decided it was time to pack up their things and migrate here.”
The sheriff and John Avers both looked identically unamused.
“I was just wondering if there was anything me and my men could do to help
.” Sheriff Anderson said.
Damianos is tempted to say “no”. Throughout his career, he's tended to butt heads with other badges more than worked well with them. However, he didn't want to completely alienate the sheriffs. It was too early to determine just what they were dealing with and if it was as bad as it seemed, they would need all of the help they could get. He at least knew one job that the sheriff could deal with.
“Lamont Duffield is the name of this victim. It would be a great help if you could inform his family of what happened.” Damianos said.
“Understood,” Sheriff Anderson said. “While we're at it, I'll also inform Eric Bosch's family of their son's death.”
“You know the other victim?” John Avers asked, visibly impressed.
Sheriff Anderson nodded grimly.
“Eric's a local boy...was going to USC in the fall.”
According to the sheriff, the two “scarecrows” had both been young men.
Damianos shook his head in silence, looking over at the victim.
The two boys that had been killed in such a horrid fashion didn't deserve it. They didn't deserve the further disgrace of having their arms strung over a comb gibbet. They didn't deserve to have their bodies being eaten by the very birds their effigies were supposed to scare off.
Nobody deserved such a death.
**
Damianos and John both walked back to the car and couldn't help but feel absolute disgust. It was very rare to see such sadism in the cases they worked. The murders were visceral—raw—and they needed to end before anymore were mutilated and eaten by crows.
While the partners sat in the car and John turned the keys, Damianos felt convinced that whoever was killing so violently was only beginning. The excessive brutality seemed to be saying only one thing—it was a rampage.
The Untimely Death Box Set Page 41