A Life Removed

by Jason Parent

  “Oh, that’s my dojo. As I said, I teach jiu-jitsu and other forms of martial arts, sometimes here at the house. You’re not going to report me to the zoning commission, are you?”

  “May I see it? I’m a bit of a martial arts enthusiast myself,” Bruce lied.

  “Excellent. What discipline?”

  “I did karate for many years as a kid,” he lied again.

  “We don’t do too much of that. But if you’re interested in practicing with us, here’s my card.” Wainwright pulled a plain business card from his pocket. His eyes shimmered as if he found the thought of a policeman practicing with him appetizing. He gestured to a hallway to the right of the living room. “The dojo’s right this way.”

  As they walked through the house, Bruce took in as much of the interior as possible. Try as he might, he could find nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Nice place you’ve got here, Carter,” Pimental said as he brought up the rear.

  “So I’ve been told.” Wainwright stopped in front of a door and opened it. “And here we are.”

  “Damn!” Pimental blurted.

  Bruce frowned, but he had to admit he was equally impressed. The dojo was magnificent, like something right out of a movie, as much a work of art as a place of exercise. With wooden walkways, bamboo blinds, and even a green slate stone kamiza with a Shinto shrine, it was perfect—except for the glaring hole in the wall.

  “What happened over there?” Bruce asked.

  “Yeah, that.” Wainwright sneered. “We had a workout here, and some of the guys got a little too competitive. I told them to pay attention to where they were going, but two of them crashed right through the wall. Hopefully, my insurance will cover it.”

  “You should make the two guys pay for it,” Pimental said.

  “I know, right? It pisses me off. But I guess it’s my own fault for bringing them here in the first place.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t Doug,” Pimental said. “You’d have a much bigger hole. He might have taken your house down with him.”

  Wainwright’s laugh seemed a bit forced. “That’s true. Doug is a big one, isn’t he?”

  Bruce tuned out their conversation. His real interest was in the hole in the wall. He moved toward it to investigate.

  “That will be fixed before our next class, should you decide to come,” Wainwright said loudly.

  “Huh?” Bruce turned, noticing Wainwright and the officers’ stares. “Oh, right. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Wainwright.” He hesitated. “Wainwright? What kind of name is that anyway? English?” He examined the man’s face. With his Mediterranean features, he was a slightly darker version of Pat Boone. “I hope you don’t find me rude for asking, but what ethnicity are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Wainwright said, smiling almost as though he had expected the question. “I was adopted.”

  “Oh.” Bruce had hoped to learn more about his host. He had a feeling he’d be back to Wainwright’s home soon. “Well, we’ll be off, then. Thanks for your assistance.”

  “If I can help, please give me a call. You have my card. I don’t know what this is about, but I’d gladly vouch for Doug’s character if it’s in question.”

  Wainwright’s feigned innocence was lost on Bruce, a man skeptical of all people and things. Even the devil was an angel once. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from us again. Thank you for your time.” He turned to Pimental and Stevens. “Let’s go.”

  As he got into his old Buick Skylark, Bruce’s mind raced with speculation. “Here’s his card,” he said to Pimental. “Get me everything there is to know about this guy ASAP.”

  Here we are investigating what could be ritualistic human sacrifice, and I just happen to talk to a guy who has a painting that honors a dead race famous for it. All that research and investigation with no results, then this just falls into our laps. “Let this be a lesson to you, Pimental. Sometimes the toughest cases are solved with a mere stroke of luck.”

  Pimental didn’t respond. Bruce was fairly certain the officer had no idea what he was talking about. Bruce reached for his phone and dialed his partner’s number.

  Jocelyn picked up on the second ring. “Bruce, where are you?”

  “I’m looking into some new information on our case over at the house of Douglas Fournier’s jiu-jitsu instructor. He has the most peculiar painting.”

  “What’s his relationship to the case?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but my gut tells me he’s smack dab in the middle of it. Jocelyn, what do you know about the Aztecs?”

  After the officers left, Carter returned to his bedroom. He crawled into bed beside the beautiful naked woman who’d startled his houseguests with an expected call out from the darkness.

  I’m lucky she didn’t come out. I can’t believe they didn’t ask her to. He felt goose bumps rise on her skin as he caressed her arm.

  She bit her lip, lust shining in her eyes, then nestled in closer against him. “What was that all about?”

  “That was the police. I called them about the attempted break-in. I had told them to come by later in the week, since I don’t expect them to find the guy. I guess they don’t have enough to do because they came right over.” Uninvited, fucking pigs. He wondered how Doug had managed to attract their attention.

  “The police? Ugh! I tried to help them out with… the death of a friend of mine, and they all but treated me like I was the murderer.”

  “I know. They’re useless.” He sighed. “Still, I need to file a report for insurance purposes. I had to show them the dojo, but it’s all taken care of now. I’m all yours, beautiful.” I’m glad they didn’t ask to see the garage. She surely would have heard the gun go off, then I’d have four more bodies to clean up. This was sloppy… too sloppy. The police got too close too damn fast. Had they come an hour earlier, we all might be sitting in a jail cell right now. It’s time to move on. He sighed deeply. Too bad. I liked being Carter Wainwright.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Carter shook it off. “No, honey. Sorry.”

  “Well, if there is, I know how to make you feel better.” She reached down and put her hand on his cock, which hardened immediately.

  “I bet you do, Maura.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “Rick, you’re my friend, aren’t you?” Tears streamed down Craig’s cheeks. “Why would you do something like this to me?”

  He’d awakened to find his wrists and ankles tied with nylon cord. Doug and Ricardo had taken every precaution. The binds were unnecessary, though; his swollen, misshapen leg made standing impossible. He wouldn’t be walking out of there.

  Ricardo stared down at him with reddened eyes. “I’m doing this because we’re friends,” Ricardo said.

  “Why did you bring me here? Where are we? What’s this all about?”

  “We’re in an old mill in Fall River, closed, not too far from the Quasar Fabrics factory. All our tools are here. It’s a convenient location—”

  “For killing people?”

  Ricardo hung his head. “For redeeming them.”

  Craig was still in the dark on most things, but his failure to heed that raw gut instinct that had warned him of real—not imagined—danger manifested in a silent scream that forced his mouth open. Eyes clenched shut, he felt his breath hitch in his chest. Why did I turn the kayak back around? I knew, damn it. His eyelids pressed tighter still, squeezing droplets from their corners. God, I’m so stupid. He dug his nails into his palms. I knew. “You’re him, aren’t you? You’re the one who’s been killing all those people?”

  “Sort of. We all are: me, Carter, Doug, and Kelly. There was one more of us, but she…”

  “What? Did you kill her, too?”

  “In a way. We failed her.”

  “And the van that I thought was following me?”

 
“That was Carter and Doug.”

  Tears sprang from his eyes. “Why?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand. We’re doing this for you.”

  “For me? How is this helping me? Do I look like I want this?”

  “I know how this sounds to an atheist, but we’re going to save your soul from damnation.”

  “What?” Craig was astounded. “What if I don’t want you to save me, Rick? Did that thought ever occur to you?”

  “We know you don’t. That’s why this is necessary. If you won’t give your soul to God willingly, then for your sake, we’ll do it for you.”

  “Have you completely lost touch with reality? You can’t be fucking serious.”

  “I’m sorry, Craig. I—”

  “Ever hear of free will, asshole?”

  “Yes. It’s a misguided concept that leads many straight to hell. I’ll miss you, but you should count yourself lucky. We can only do the Lord’s work for so many. I’m happy to know that one day, because of what we do here, I’ll see you again.”

  “Lucky?” Had he been free, Craig would have wrapped his fingers around Ricardo’s neck and squeezed the life out of his former friend. But the slightest shift sent daggers of pain up his leg. “Rick, listen to me. I don’t want to be saved, and I sure as hell don’t want to die. This isn’t you. What you’re doing is wrong. We were both born and raised Catholic. God doesn’t want you to do this. Listen to how crazy it sounds.”

  “First, I’m not Catholic. And second, I know how it sounds. Believe me, I was skeptical at first. They kept me tied up for days until I finally opened my eyes to what they’d been trying to show me all along. Faith is something you feel, and I’ve felt it. It’s on a plane far higher than soulless logic.”

  “It’s all a fairy tale, you moron! Make believe! Stuff you tell children to make sure they grow up right ’cause, God forbid, if they do anything not so squeaky clean and enjoy life, they’ll be burned and tortured for all of eternity.”

  Ricardo set his jaw. “Carter has shown us God’s plan. Look at me, Craig. I can see! How else can you explain that? Sure, my sight isn’t perfect, but it gets better with every soul we save. When we take their hearts inside us, we grow stronger. We can actually feel it happening. Doug can probably bench close to six hundred pounds now. Kelly can complete a Rubik’s cube in less than thirty seconds. Our growth is a sign of divine approval. Carter is his prophet, sent here to save the chosen few.” He smiled. “You’ve been chosen.”

  Bile rose in Craig’s throat. “So you’re going to rip my heart out while I’m still breathing? And what do you mean ‘take their hearts inside you’? Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means. Are you planning on eating my heart? That’s just twisted, man! And because of some insane delusion that you think it will make you see better? Who the fuck are you? Jeffrey Dahmer? Hannibal Lecter?”

  “I don’t appreciate those comparisons,” Ricardo snapped. “Dahmer was mentally unstable, and Lecter is a fictional character. I don’t enjoy eating hearts. They taste like rubbery liver, and we can’t even cook them first. But it’s necessary to save you, to absolve you of your sins and cleanse your soul in the eyes of God. We know for sure now that the soul resides within the heart. Carter has found a way… no, Carter has been taught by God the way to capture a soul and cleanse it so that it may kneel before our savior, pure and worthy, come Judgment Day. In other words, Craig, we’re your ticket into heaven. But first, you’ve got to go through a little hell. So if you want to compare me to fictional characters, I’d prefer Michael Landon’s character on Highway to Heaven. Tonight, I’m your guardian angel.”

  Craig began to realize that Ricardo, his friend for more than half his life, had truly gone over the edge. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Ricardo grinned. “I know. It’s a lot to take in, but—”

  “You’re totally fucking insane!”

  Ricardo’s smile vanished. “I guessed you might see it that way. In the end, though, you’ll thank me.”

  “In the end, if you’re right and there is a heaven and hell, you’re gonna be the one burning.”

  “Why do you fight so hard to forsake him? His influence is all around us, in everything.” He shook his head. “Aaron is the same way: stubborn, faithless. How else would you explain my ability to see?”

  “Lots of carrots? Mitichlora-whatevers? I don’t know, man. I’m no doctor. But I’m sure it has nothing to do with you being a cannibal.”

  Ricardo slapped his thighs. “I can see there’s no reasoning with you. In light of our friendship—and I still consider you a good friend—I borrowed some of my mother’s Valium for you to take before the ceremony begins. It won’t take all the pain away, but it should lessen the sting. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Craig. We’ll start as soon as Carter gets here, which should be any minute now.” He held up a pill. “Open your mouth.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Ricardo shrugged. “All right, your loss. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Craig turned his head to face the wall. He’d already given up on trying to escape. He could barely move his arms, and his injured leg was useless.

  He tried to hold back his tears while listening for the arrival of Carter. If I yell for help, will anyone hear me? Would anyone care? He didn’t bother to try. All hope had been washed away with his blood and tears. “Give me the Valium.”

  His Chevelle’s tires ground down on cracked pavement as it pulled into the lot. Carter’s vehicle was perhaps not the subtlest, but the mill was secluded. Weeds sprouted through the cement. Huge black rats scurried back to their nests hidden somewhere in the dark, hollow spaces in the rotted wood or the lot’s abutting tall grass. If anyone lived in the neighborhood, they’d yet to notice the activities taking place inside its deteriorated walls.

  Or just turned a blind eye to it. He smiled and got out of the car, where he paused to draw in a breath of putrid air that hung wet and heavy from the moisture it sucked off the nearby river. Home is where you hang your heart. He chuckled quietly then headed inside.

  Doug met him at the door. “Where have you been? He’s been out most of this time, probably in shock, but still breathing. We had to bandage him up. His leg will turn gangrenous without medical attention.”

  “Like that’s an issue. He’ll be dead shortly.” And as for me, I’ve been dealing with police this evening, thanks to some bonehead mistake you made. He stepped inside. “I had some cleaning up to do. I moved his car and yours into the garage, then I sealed that hole in my dojo wall. Last thing I need is some animal getting in there.” Carter looked around the room. “Where are Kelly and Ricardo? Is everything all set?”

  “They’re both with Craig. He’s prepped and ready to go. Ricardo’s been talking to him. Don’t worry, though. He’s still on board.”

  “Good. I forgot his stuff in the car. Get everyone ready and light the furnace. I’ll be right back.”

  He ran out to his car and grabbed Craig’s navy-blue gym bag, along with his own bag. Upon returning, he threw Craig’s bag and cell phone into the fired-up furnace. He slid Craig’s wallet and keys into his own bag then walked into the kill room. Craig was out cold. Carter wasn’t surprised. A man could only take so much pain and fear before his mind shut down.

  Carter slapped Craig several times until the man opened his eyes. “Wake up, my friend,” Carter said. “I wouldn’t want you to miss this.” He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached for the knife he kept on a nearby shelf. He kneeled next to Craig and whispered, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Glassy-eyed, Craig looked around the room like a dizzy drunk. Drool trickled out of one corner of his mouth. Carter raised the blade.

  “Wait!” Ricardo shouted.

  “Ricardo, we’ve been over this—”

  “I know, but you’re forgetting something.”


  Carter rolled his eyes, his back turned to the others so that they wouldn’t notice. “Oh, I thought you guys had already done that.” He slapped Craig again. “Hey, Craig, focus. What’s wrong with this guy?”

  “I gave him some Valium,” Ricardo said.

  “You what?” Carter growled then quickly got himself in check. Why does somebody always have to ruin things? The look on his face won’t be the same now. He’d better feel it, or this won’t be nearly as fun.

  Carter pinched Craig’s cheek like a grandmother adoring her grandchild. He wanted the man alert. “Craig, listen to me carefully. Do you have anything you’d like to confess before I kill you?” Carter smirked. I wonder what I’ll have to do when someone actually says yes loud enough for the others to hear it?

  Apparently finding a moment of coherence, Craig responded, “Fuck off.”

  “Suit yourself.” Defiant to the end. I like that. Carter raised the blade and swiftly plunged it into Craig’s chest. Blood squirted from the gash. Some of it landed on Carter’s mouth. Carter quickly licked his lips.

  Then, it was over. Craig died far too quickly for Carter’s liking, almost instantaneously. He’d missed the heart on purpose, just as he always did. He loved the way his victims coughed up blood when he punctured a lung. If the others weren’t watching, he probably would have started much lower and worked his way up, perhaps at the stomach. He continued his work, severing bone, muscle, arteries, and everything else composing the man’s chest. Last, he began to carve out Craig’s heart.

  Killing Craig had been fun, but at best, it was like a premature ejaculation—it felt good, but it failed to satisfy. He would need to kill again soon.

  Good thing I already have the next one lined up. He considered making her a solo job. The thought almost made him squeal with delight as he reached in and tore out Craig’s heart. He held it high like a trophy, even though he felt as if he’d only won second place.

  “Prepare the body for disposal,” he ordered. “Divvy up the heart.” He plopped the organ onto the operating table beside Craig’s corpse. Not bothering to clean the streaks of blood from his face, Carter stared at his followers. He couldn’t mask his sadism, so he played it off as religious zeal.