Mysterious Blood Relatives (Obscure Blood Book 3)

by Christopher Leonidas

  “After a few months of delivering those envelopes, Don called me to his office. It was on the other side of town.” Chelsea noted Octa’s confusion. “So anyway, Don asked me out. Now, Don wasn’t even that old, maybe only 7-9 years older, so I said okay. I was twenty-one at the time.” Octa noticed the faraway look in Chelsea’s eyes and turned to John who simply shrugged.

  Chelsea continued, “It was only after two months of being together that things started going wrong.”

  Octa bristled. “Why? Did he abuse you?”

  Chelsea waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing of the sort! You see, Don hadn’t told me what he did for a living, but he was well-spoken and very charismatic. He could get people to do whatever he wanted. We could get into the best restaurants, the best hotels and the best concerts. All he had to do was talk. But then I started noticing that at his office, a lot of people didn’t do anything. I mean sure, it seemed as busy as any other office, there were a lot of people coming and going, but there was never any actual work. A business name wasn’t even registered or mentioned.”

  Octa gritted his teeth. She’s taking too long. What does she think she’s doing, reciting a novel?

  “I started asking around for his name, his company. There wasn’t any internet back then, not the way it is now, so I couldn’t just log onto a search engine and find whatever I needed. I couldn’t find anything. So one day, I tailed him. I wanted to see where he’d go. I followed him to a place very close to this warehouse, in fact.” She looked around, as if realizing this now.

  “It was an old house. Far off the main road. I parked in a hidden place and used my binoculars. I followed him there and that’s when I saw it.” Chelsea looked down, not meeting Octa’s eye. Octa felt his curiosity meeting its breaking point. Chelsea took a deep breath.

  “The whole house, Octa, was like a fortress, or more like a safe house. There were people with guns everywhere. The fences were all made of barbed wire, which I’m sure were electric. And inside, there were people actually swarming toward him like he was a god or something. People were all around him, kissing his hands, staring at him with the same level of adoration I had seen in his employees’ eyes, and that’s when I noticed what seemed so odd. There weren’t any men there. Sure, there were the guards, but even half of those were women. Apart from that, all those who were roaming around them, they were all women. It was a cult.”

  Octa didn’t realize that his mouth was hanging open. “You ended up dating a member of the cult?”

  Chelsea shook her head. “The leader of the cult.”

  “Then I saw where all the men were. They were standing near the entrance of the house, probably waiting to welcome him in, and that’s when I recognized the faces. Popular faces, political faces, people who probably had a lot of power and knew it. They were all part of the cult.” Chelsea looked nervously toward John.

  Octa looked at them both. “So after that, you hightailed it outta there, contacted John and then he helped you vanish? Then this Don guy came after you, tortured my father, killed mother and ran?”

  Chelsea looked at him sadly. “I was caught before I could run. I told you, it was all high security. But they didn’t hurt me though. They recognized me as Don’s girlfriend.”

  Octa was wobbly. He ambled his way to the chair beside John and sat. For a second, he felt like he had heard the sound of scuffle downstairs, but spying a little rat tail disappearing from view, he relaxed, his eyes glazed.

  “What happened then? Did he dare ask?”

  “I was taken to Don. He was in the house, surrounded by all his merry men and women. There were even children there. They took me right behind him and that’s when I saw a man tied to a chair, and a woman standing behind him. She was torturing him. I only could hear a few of the things she said,” Chelsea said.

  “And what was she saying?” Octa said, his voice echoing.

  “Let go of your sins,” Chelsea answered. Octa looked up. Her expressions were unrecognizable, but she had a look in her eyes that reminded him of a memory passed.

  The next second, all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Five

  John was the first to react as soon as the stun grenade hit the floor. Leaping toward Chelsea, he knocked her off her feet, taking her down just as the grenade exploded. Octa wasn’t so lucky. He had been thinking too much to even notice the grenade, and felt the full effect as his vision blanked out. He heard the trumping of booted feet coming up the stairs, and out of habit, he reached for his gun and aimed in the general direction of the sound. At the first sound of the gunshot, Octa dived down, trying to bring his thoughts together. He hauled the table the lantern was on and pushed, breaking the lantern and extinguishing the light. He could hear gunshots above his head, the assailants not making a sound, just firing.

  He felt a hand on his neck as John hauled him up. “What use are you if you can’t shoot?”

  That kicked Octa into high gear. Blinking fast, he tried to see who was in front of him in the darkness and saw three men, completely dressed in black with masks on, aiming their guns blindly. John aimed at the man closest to him and fired. The man crumpled as the bullet hit him in the face. The other two zeroed in on their location and the one nearest to the stairs raised his hand, speaking into a small mic on his wrist.

  “We have them,” the man said calmly.

  Octa felt stupid. They were hiding behind a table, for Pete’s sake, he had to do something. Grabbing the legs of the table, Octa lifted it and charged at the two assailants. Good thing it was dark, because even if they had night vision, they wouldn’t have expected Octa to react in this weird way. Charging at them, Octa pushed the table into them, sending them careening down the stairs. The table went with them as they bounced down.

  “Come on!” he yelled to John and his aunt.

  Rushing down the stairs, Octa felt something whiz past his ear and realized it was a bullet. “Get down,” he shouted as more men in black swarmed the old warehouse. Octa saw one of the shooters from upstairs stir and kicked him squarely in the jaw. Taking the man’s gun, Octa aimed for the shooters and started firing. So did John.

  John then pulled Chelsea away from Octa. “There’s a back way! Octa!”

  Octa fired into the corner where he knew some shooters had taken cover, and then turned, running for his life. He didn’t know if his aim had killed any of them, but he wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Suddenly, he realized something.

  He stopped his aunt just before she could open the back door. “Wait. They’ll be expecting us to come out through the back door.”

  Dragging her and John to a side window on the other side of the building, he opened it up and pushed her out. He could hear the shooters getting closer. Even the softest of their steps echoed throughout the warehouse. Octa fired in their direction again, keeping them at bay as his aunt ran for her car, followed by John.

  Finally, Octa jumped through as the shooters started firing near his location, and together they ran. They ran for a long time, not looking back and finally John pointed to a hedge near the road. “There! My car is over there.”

  Nearing the hedge, Octa spotted an old De Tomaso Pantera hidden behind the branches. Once a gorgeous ride, it hadn’t lost its appeal, but it hardly had any space for three people. Octa knew he’d have to run. He pulled open the door and pushed his aunt into the passenger seat.

  “Get her to safety,” he instructed John.

  John pulled the driver’s side door open and paused, “What about you?”

  Octa looked back at the warehouse. He knew shooters were still hunting them, but he had to stop and see who they were.

  “I’ll be fine, I’ll be safe. Just get her somewhere safe,” he said forcibly as John grimaced. Leaning down, he said to his aunt. “I know the story doesn’t just end here. This has something to do with that Don Swanson guy and I’m going to find out what. Don’t run away.” He said the last words menacingly.

  His aunt glared at him, her eyes wid
e. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Slamming the door shut, he stepped back as John shut his door, started the car and swerved onto a dusty path off the main road.

  As soon as the car was out of sight, Octa checked the gun to see if it had any rounds left. It did. He turned and crept back to the warehouse, keeping close to the shadows. Although they had run fast, he didn’t understand why the assailants hadn’t run after them. He was just nearing the warehouse, when he saw an unmarked van outside, it’s sliding door open. Hiding behind a large oak tree, Octa watched as several men walked in and out of the warehouse. They were pulling what seemed to be bodies into the van, not speaking a word. He could spy his van on the other side of the run-down building, untouched.

  He counted a total of five bodies as the men piled them up in the van. So I did manage to hit some of them, Octa thought, feeling a little self-satisfied. With nothing more to do, the other men trooped out, and closed the building’s door behind them. He wondered how they’d found out that they were going to be there, but he needed to know who was sending them. Problem was, he knew he couldn’t get close to them. Closing the van doors, the men got in the vehicle and drove off, leaving two men behind.

  Octa held his breath as the van raced past.

  He followed carefully as they ambled off into the direction of his van. Not my van, Octa thought.

  Pulling out his Glock, Octa gently placed the shooter’s gun on the ground and tread softly toward the men. The gun had no serial number. They had their guns slung on their shoulders and were speaking softly to one another.

  Octa raised his weapon, making sure he didn’t make too much noise as they kept talking. One of them had pulled his mask up to his forehead so Octa could see his face. He couldn’t have been any older than his mid-twenties.

  “I tell you, tonight was a close call. That guy was crazy.” Octa heard him saying.

  The other masked man nodded. “Whatever. He’s not our problem now. We did what we were told to do.”

  “I just wish we had gotten some backup. Henry wouldn’t have died if we’d had more backup.” The unmasked man insisted.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter now. His sins are washed. He’s in a better place now.” The masked guy scratched his chin, “Besides, he should’ve known this would happen, him barging in like that. He should’ve expected getting shot with police in the room.”

  “Father’s not going to like this.” The unmasked man looked up at the night sky.

  The other man grumbled, “As if he likes anything these days. The reopening of that case has him rattled. He doesn’t like eyes on him, but the idiot is going around killing kids and all, and leaving those teapots. And for what? So he can give father a lesson?”

  Octa froze. The case? How do they know about the kids and the teapots?

  The two men had reached the van and were trying to open it. Octa stepped back, hiding in the shadow of the warehouse.

  The unmasked man looked anxious. “You shouldn’t speak this way.”

  The other man snapped. “It’s not like father can hear us. Stop being so afraid!”

  The unmasked man rattled the passenger door, but it didn’t budge. “We won’t be able to move this van.”

  The masked man stepped back. “Give me a rock. I’m going to break the window.”

  Octa raised his gun at the man and stepped forward. “I don’t think so.”

  Both men froze. Octa could see the unmasked man shaking. Hmm, must be a newbie in the cult, he thought.

  Coming forward, Octa rested his gun against the back of the newbie’s head and grabbing his gun, relieved him of it.

  “Now, gentlemen. I think it’ll be best if you don’t move. Otherwise, I’ll kill both of you,” he said, slowly patting the newbie down for any other hidden guns. Taking three from him, and tossing them out of reach, Octa moved to the masked man.

  The masked man didn’t move, but kept his eyes on the unmasked assailant at all times. Octa noticed this, and growled at him. “Turn around and get down on the ground.” Obligingly, the man turned and knelt, his hands behind his head.

  Going over to the other man, Octa gestured for him to raise his hand so that Octa could pull the gun from his shoulder. After relieving him of all his weapons, Octa made both men march to the side of the warehouse, their backs against the wall. He pointed two guns at them.

  “Now, I will ask questions and you will both give me the answers I’m looking for. If I don’t like the answer, I’ll shoot you. If I do like it, I’ll shoot you. So either way, you’re going die. Better that you tell me why you’re trying to kill me so that I end up giving you an easy death instead of a slow and excruciating one,” Octa said firmly.

  The young man nodded eagerly, while the other just stared at him. Octa gestured at the masked man. “Take that off. I want to see your face.”

  The man raised a hand and took off his mask. He didn’t seem familiar to Octa. Just another face from the numerous faces he saw every day. Older looking, brown hair, blue eyes, common features, as if he had been made in a factory.

  Octa asked. “Who is father?”

  The young man raised his eyes. “He is father. We don’t know his name, but that’s what he’s always been to us.”

  Octa turned to the older man. “Is he your father too?” Octa sneered.

  “Unfortunately,” the man grumbled. Octa narrowed his eyes.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  The young man pursed his lips, staying silent. The wind whistled through the trees as the silence extended.

  Octa shouted, “Tell me.”

  The older man sighed. “Look, don’t blow your head up, okay? The guy’s name is Don, but we call him father because he is married to our mother. I’m not his biological kid, but he is,” he said, nodding toward the younger man.

  “Father is very angry,” the younger man piped up.

  “Yeah, I sensed that,” Octa said drily.

  “Anyway, he sent us here to scare you. He doesn’t want you investigating this case. It will only open a plethora of other cases which are better off closed and cold,” the older man said.

  Octa nodded. “And what did you say about the idiot? The man murdering children? And the teapot full of blood? What did you mean he was sending your father a message?”

  The blood drained from the young man’s face and he gulped, looking at the older man hesitantly, who snorted. “What do you think? Your idiot father is killing everyone in sight, because he is sending our father a message.”

  “And what message is that?”

  The older man looked at Octa like he was insane. “The message, as in ‘look at me. I am trying to make you proud’.”

  Octa felt puzzled. “My father is trying to make this Don proud? Why?”

  The man looked away toward the road. “Why else do you think your father killed your mother? For fun? He did it because he had to prove that he wanted to be a part of the family, and for that, he had to kill someone who he knew had sinned.”

  Octa shook his head. “Sinned? Wait, how do you know all this?”

  This time the young man answered. “Oh, everyone knows this story back home. Your father killed your mother, because he thought she had sinned. He said that one of his sons didn’t look anything like him, and he knew that his wife had cheated on him. So he killed her for it. He proved that he wanted to be a part of our family by cleansing her of her sins.”

  Octa gulped. This was ridiculous. How could any of this be true? he thought.

  “Your father had to kill, because he wanted to live. This had nothing to do with becoming a part of your family. It was all about his cowardice.”

  The older man interrupted. “Look, you may think we’re insane, but we’re part of a huge family. We look out for each other. Whatever father did, he looked out for his own. But your dad? He’s just a new kind of sick! Going around killing kids, and for what, to show father that he’s spreading the message forward? Father tried to help him. He had all those detectives ki
lled! It would only take an idiot to note that so many detectives had died on the job, but father kept the FBI quiet. Had some twenty detectives killed for your father, and what does he do in return? Causes more trouble! If you ask me, father should have killed your rat-faced dad before--” His words ceased as out of nowhere a bullet whizzed right through his brain, killing him.

  Octa stepped back in shock as another whizzed past and straight through the young man’s forehead. He dove behind the van. His gun raised, Octa stayed alert, looking for wherever the shot had come from, but there was a thicket of trees behind him, so he couldn’t see through with just the moonlight for assistance.

  Octa breathed hard, his brain working in overdrive. He shouted, “This is Detective Octa. Come out with your hands up.”

  He didn’t hear anything, neither was there any movement. The two bodies behind him bled, his shoes becoming drenched in their blood. “Come out with your hands up or I’ll shoot.”

  Nothing happened. He waited in that position for ten minutes. Waited for another bullet to come whizzing by. Whoever it was, they were still out there. Octa tried to stabilize his breathing. And then he heard it. A tiny clink, as if someone had inserted a bullet into a rifle. Octa waited for his world to end.

  Chapter Six

  The time came and went. Octa’s mind had gone from dread to curiosity. He should be dead by now and yet here he was, with two bodies behind him and their blood under his shoes. It had been ten minutes since they were killed and now Octa was getting impatient. What was the shooter waiting for? he thought.

  Cautiously, Octa moved forward. The bramble beneath the trees was too thick to make out much of anything and the moonlight wasn’t bright. Octa reached the edge of the road and looked around, his weapon at the ready. The shooter couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air. The shot had to have come from a height and no one could’ve come down from the tree branches without making some sort of noise. Taking a deep breath, Octa dived in, his brain alert.