One year to the day, the second child, Amanda Rollins, was abducted. This time, Moloch’s insatiable desire for an innocent’s flesh would be fulfilled. Word of the successful sacrifice spread across the country through the cult’s vast network of followers.
From that day forward, there have been reports of children being abducted on a regular basis. Most are never seen again. Then, reports of mothers sacrificing their own children began to surface. Moloch’s influence was growing, despite the efforts of law enforcement officials to infiltrate the cult.
WHAT ABOUT ME YOU ASK?
A s it turns out, what I thought or did had little bearing at all in the end. In your world, justice instills the idea of fairness, equality, impartiality and truth. In the netherworld, I see now it was all a huge lie. My life had been an orchestrated tapestry woven together for one purpose, which I’ll get into momentarily.
I mistakenly believed that I was in control of my life. But death has shown me that my life’s symphony was scored long ago, before my conception, and now I’m the captive. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good life for the most part, better than most—full of the expected ups and downs. My lows, however, were very low, and collectively they became more than I could handle.
My best friend, Frank, was my most feared adversary in middle school, but he turned out to be one of the two best things to ever happen to me. If it wasn’t for his taunting and tormenting, I may never have resolved to better myself. After he and I became best friends in high school, my life seemed to be perfect. I was happy, popular and athletic. Moose, as he was known, and I went to college together and played football. It seemed I had it all until that fateful day when my head got crushed by that brutal defense. That was the end of my football career. I never understood how one hit could change everything, until now.
As bad as that career-ending event was, the first real tragedy in my life came the day my mother, Nancy, called me with the horrible news that my father, Big Mike as we all called him, had been murdered by a man he had tried to help. But once again, in time, I came to believe that I was in control of my destiny and that all was working according to my timetable. I would do what I thought was right and not take any money from my mom. I would find a way to pay for school on my own.
Looking for a practical way to pay for college and eventually law school, I found a job as a cop. My search for a cop job led me to beautiful and seemingly quiet Boca Grande Shores in Dolphin County, Florida. Looking back, I should have listened to my instincts to run away and get the hell out of town when I had my first creepy encounter with the afterlife in that hotel room. But I was never one to believe in all that supernatural mumbo jumbo. I did eventually get the job. The pay wasn’t great, but they did have tuition reimbursement, which at the time was my main purpose. Plus, they were the only agency hiring at the time. It was a long drive from the university, but with the advent of computers and online schooling, I was able to complete my education.
As it turned out, I really enjoyed being a cop. I excelled at the job and became a detective quicker than anyone else had ever done prior to me. My pride seemed to have gotten the better of me, and once again I felt confident that I was the master of my own destiny. But destiny would reveal the ugly truth in short order.
My firm unbelief in the supernatural would be shaken to the core almost immediately from the time I made detective. For the rest of my days, I would be haunted by all the horrific memories of those innocent children. My tenure as a detective would expose me to multiple horrendous murders. However, the memory of Amanda Rollins and how close I was to saving her, but failed, was especially disturbing to me. The final straw for me came the day I walked into the bedroom of little Miguel Lopez. His mother, Carmen, had sacrificed her own baby by plunging a nightmarish ritual blade into his tiny chest. That was my last day in Major Crimes.
As a younger man, I was not a fan of the death penalty. My father spent his entire career as a defense attorney keeping scum like Kearcy off of death row. But I believe it was in those moments by the fire that my outlook changed forever, when I looked into the charred, empty sockets that should have nestled two beautiful blue eyes belonging to Amanda Rollins. I never felt rage before like I felt that night. Even the death of my dad didn’t elicit such anger. I sought justice that night and believed that justice had been served on a cold platter when that piece of shit, Mark Kearcy, met his demise. He had received the death penalty.
It took several years of appeals, but the day came for Kearcy to meet his fate. I drove all the way to the Florida State Prison in Raiford that day, and watched with gratification as behind the glass the needle was inserted into Kearcy’s right arm. He didn’t even flinch. That unrelenting twisted smirk was the only expression he showed. He slipped into unconsciousness after the barbiturates were administered. I gleaned great satisfaction after the paralytic was administered and I could see his breathing cease. But the heart monitor still showed a pulse. I couldn’t help but feel angst waiting for the coveted flat line that would confirm his death. At long last, the final drug was administered; sweet, sweet potassium chloride. The heart-stopping elixir coursed through the villain’s veins as my eyes were fixated on the heart monitor. Finally, it resulted in the desired effect and his heart stopped. At 5:32 a.m., the attending physician pronounced the monster dead.
Leaving the prison that morning, I had a false sense of satisfaction. With the monster now dead, I thought the images in my head would die with him, never realizing that those dreadful images would haunt me forever. All that would be bad enough on its own, but the dread that fate had in store for my future knew no bounds.
Now don’t get me wrong, many good things happened to me during this time, as well. As you already know from what you’ve previously read, I met the love of my life, Meredith Porter during one of the darkest times of my life. Before Meredith, I had no shortage of girlfriends, but no one ever took my breath away like she did. From the moment our eyes met in that courtroom, I knew somehow that we would be together. I believed from our first date that she was my soul mate and that we would be together for eternity.
After we were married, our life was enchanted. Meredith helped make all the nightmares go away. She encouraged me and helped me to achieve my goal of becoming an attorney. When I finally went to work for the District Attorney’s Office, I was convinced that nothing could make the happy times disappear. Together, we were on track for a life of real fairytale romance.
We started a law practice together, Carson & Associates. Of course, I was the only associate; she was twice the attorney I ever hoped to be, but it was wonderful to work together.
We determined that it was time to start our family after the practice was established. I suggested that we look for a home before having a baby. The first several house sales all fell through for one reason or another. I can still remember how beautiful Meredith looked when she came home that Saturday from the office. She was so excited. She started to tell me about a house she had found. I went on to the gym thinking to myself that it would just turn out to be another letdown.
I worked out hard that day. I recall being angry about the previous letdowns in our search for a home. I started to feel like a failure, like I was letting her down. I knew she wanted a baby, but I was insistent on having a home first. What a jerk I was. We could have had our baby anytime. I think somehow it all reverts back to my being in control—or thinking I was in control. By the end of my workout, I had spent most of my pent-up testosterone and was relaxed enough to be encouraging when I got home. I didn’t want to discourage her anymore.
I can still hear her excitement when I walked in, as she ran up to me, hugging and kissing me and telling all about the research she had done regarding the house. I recall biting my tongue, but I allowed it to slip out that it sounded too good to be true. Undeterred by my pessimism, Meredith continued to ramble on about how everything checked out and she had a good feeling about this one. I agreed to meet with the realtor the next day.
When we pulled up in front of the house, I was convinced more than ever that this could not possibly be. As we approached the front doors, I reluctantly told her not to get her hopes up and I reminded her of all the previous disappointments. It broke my heart to see her beautiful, joyful visage become more subdued in appearance. I tried in vain to put on a happy façade as we entered the home.
I refused to tell let on that I had a bad feeling when we entered. She introduced me to the realtor, Sam Haines. I will never forget his shabby appearance and bogus smile. When he shook my hand, a chill ran up my spine. Both hands were full of rings; he was wearing that terrible plaid suit and gaudy gold chains. He reeked of Old Spice and cow dung, but Meredith was so excited...
We toured the house without the pleasure of Mr. Haines’ company. The first uncanny event happened as we went in the room that was to be the baby’s nursery. When we entered the room, I thought I heard a woman’s voice that stood out among the throng of others that called out my name. I was immobilized momentarily, but that sort of thing had happened before. I instantly relived that moment in Amanda’s room when a similar event had occurred. Meredith helped convince me that I was having a flashback. I convinced myself that it was the whole nursery scene that drew me back to that night.
I hate to admit that by the end of the tour, I did find the house very appealing. We spoke to Mr. Haines and agreed to meet the estate attorney, Mr. Abaddonus.
Now let me stop here for a minute. I know you must be thinking to yourself, how could he not see through the ruse? The truth is, I don’t know. Maybe I was blinded by the appeal of the house, perhaps it was my desire to see Meredith happy, or maybe it was the foolish need to believe that all my good deeds were finally coming to a head and this great opportunity would be my reward. I suppose it would be easy to judge me from your perspective. If I had the luxury of reading about my life in a book, perhaps I could have avoided many of the nightmares that awaited me.
But I digress. The day came, and we moved into the house. For the next few months, everything went very well. I never let Meredith know about the bizarre things I experienced, or about the voices that I heard. I was on the landing that overlooked the tile floor in the living room one afternoon, and I noticed a pattern in the grout of the tile. When I looked at it at the right angle, I could see the pattern of what looked like a pentagram. I managed to convince myself that it was just a trick of the light, much like the carpet in Amanda’s room. Needless to say, I bought a large area rug for the room that afternoon. Meredith believed I had done it to surprise her. Who was I to tell her otherwise?
I managed to get her pregnant within the first few weeks after we moved in. I, of course, believed that it was perfect timing, and it was, but it was not our timing, as I would soon learn. A prouder mother-to-be you have never seen, I can assure you. I couldn’t help but fall more in love with her every day. She radiated excitement, and unlike other women, she was proud to show off her growing belly. I kept the voices in check, thinking all along that I must be suffering from PTSD or some other disorder.
We were home one Saturday afternoon and had just gotten out of the pool when our phone rang. It was Frank and Cynthia. They broke the most exciting news to us that they had just gotten married and had bought the house down the street from us. I won’t go into all the grotesque details. It’s too hard to recall, but you can go back and read that chapter again if you want.
Needless to say, this was a tragedy beyond what Meredith and I had ever experienced as a couple. That night, the voices were screaming at me. Neither of us talked to the other. We were each grieving in our own way, I suppose. But the voices convinced me that she didn’t care what I was feeling. Of course, I know now that’s absurd, but the voices were strong. After that night, the voices were clear, as if they were standing next to me whispering in my ears. I kept them suppressed and managed to hide the experiences from Meredith.
The day of our ultrasound was the first happy day we’d had since Frank was killed. I took Merry home and then returned to the office to finish prepping for a case. When I came home, I had bought her some flowers and candy. I remember calling her, and she called down that she was upstairs. I can remember how happy she still sounded. As she was coming down the stairs, she fell. Long story short, we lost the baby.
The first night home from the hospital, Meredith woke up to what she thought was a baby’s cry from the nursery. She got out of bed without waking me and went to investigate. I woke up to hear her screaming. I’m not afraid to tell you it scared the hell out of me. I ran to her and managed to convince her that it was all just a bad dream. Boy, if I knew then what I know now, I would have scooped her up and ran out the front door never to return.
Well, I’m here to tell you that the voices were relentless after that. They would barrage me constantly with the idea that she was cheating on me. I know now that she loved me and would never have done anything like that. The first time I confronted her was when she woke up one night and called Cynthia. Of course, she was considerate enough to go downstairs so she wouldn’t wake me up. But I awoke anyhow to the sound of a woman’s voice telling me, “You fool. She’s doing it again. She’s talking to him, hiding from you downstairs, in the den.”
I sprang out of bed, and to my dismay found a light coming from under the den’s door. As I approached the door, I heard her say, “I love you sweetie, I’ll always be here for you. I gotta get going now. I don’t want Mike to wake up and not find me in bed.” I barged into the room as she was getting up, and I started to confront her about who she was speaking to. She innocently told me she had been talking to Cynthia. I recall my blood boiling with rage as she looked at me, in disbelief at my behavior.
A few weeks passed. The voices continued to be relentless. I confronted her on several more occasions about why she was cheating on me and told her that I would eventually find out who it was.
Now friends, please bear with me. The next part is very difficult for me to share. Believe me, I take full responsibility for my actions and I don’t look to blame anyone other than myself, but I do hope to clarify a few things for you.
One evening after she had prepared a nice dinner and we enjoyed a movie, we were sleeping in bed. Now, as clear as if you were to speak to me right now, that familiar woman’s voice whispered into my slumbering ear, “She’s fucking him behind your back. That dirty whore. She killed your baby and now she’s fucking another man. You don’t deserve that. You know who truly loves you.”
My heart sank. I woke up angry and pounced on my innocent wife lying peacefully beside me. I pressed hard on her until she cried out in pain. She was always stronger than I gave her credit for, and she fought her way out from under me. I fell to the floor. You would think by then I would have come to my senses and realized how insane I was behaving, but no. Instead, my anger grew and I chased her down the stairs, where we continued to fight.
That night, we fought like we never had before. She became more scared and tried to leave, assuring me that she was going to her parents’ house to allow me time to cool off. We were outside in the front yard, and when she insisted on leaving, I scolded her, grabbed her and forcibly threw her over my shoulder. I then carried her back up the stairs and threw her onto the bed.
Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang. I knew it had to be the cops. I myself had been on the other side of that door hundreds of times. I knew if they didn’t hear anything, they would eventually go away. I cupped Meredith’s mouth with my hand. My hand covered her face and she could barely breathe. I told her that if she said anything, I would kill her. I don’t think I could have ever killed her, but it became apparent that she didn’t believe that to be true, and even now I have no idea what was going through my mind.
Before that night, I had never physically harmed her. In fact, I had never touched her in any way other than affectionately. But that dreaded night, everything changed.
During my assault, I saw for the first time ever true terror in my wife’s eyes. Her terror was not the result of a stranger’s attack or a tragedy unfolding before her eyes. No, her terror was that of a woman betrayed by the man she loved, the very man who had promised to love and adore her for all time; the same man who vowed to always protect her at all cost. Yes, that very protector had turned against her and now was her accuser and attacker.
After it was quiet for several minutes, I knew the cops were leaving. I let go of her and looked out the window to confirm my suspicion. The two deputies were walking away.
I turned around and saw my beautiful wife curled up in a fetal position, crying. Instantly, all the rage escaped me and I was filled with regret for the actions I had taken against this sweet, innocent woman. I moved toward her to console her. However, instead of rushing to my open arms as she had always done before, she recoiled in terror whimpering, “Please don’t hurt me!”
This was the lowest point of my life. All the bad and terrible things I had ever experienced culminated into this one moment. This one event was the absolute worst thing I had ever been part of. The loss of my father, the career-ending football injury, the grisly child murders, almost losing Meredith on our honeymoon, losing Frank, and Cynthia’s life-altering injury—all were terrible things and any one of these tragedies might make someone snap. But none of those events came close to the heartbreak I felt seeing the terror in my wife’s eyes at the sight of me. The precious love of my life, the woman I adored more than anything in this world, was repulsed and terrified of me.
Epistle of the Damned Page 31