Crescent City (An Alec Winters Series Book 1)

by Chariss K. Walker

  Chaz had completed two years of medical school before an addiction to prescribed drugs ended his future as a surgeon. Although he regretted the mistakes he’d made in his younger days, he tried to make up for it by helping others. He often patched up those who couldn’t easily get treatment at the emergency room. Now, he lived on a trust fund established by a wealthy grandfather and shared a home with Celina, his girlfriend. Alec and Chaz had a bond from high school, but their medical backgrounds were also an attribute they shared.

  Alec didn’t drink or club. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he consumed alcohol. He couldn’t know if imbibing in spirits would allow the demon to appear without his knowledge. His experiences with other drunks, such as his father, warned that drinking allowed the darkest part of a human’s nature to materialize, to become unleashed. That knowledge was enough to keep him away from all fermented beverages.

  He didn’t own a car. He relied on public transportation to get around the city. He rode the trolley, buses, and occasionally took a cab. On his visits to Mobile and Melbourne, he rented a car.

  In the early afternoon, Alec rode the Canal Street trolley from Carrollton to Jackson Square and then walked to the 900 block of Royal Street. From there, he selected a restaurant where he’d have a late lunch. He sat on the terrace at Café Amelia while keeping a watchful eye on the patrons.

  With a subtropical climate, New Orleans was filled with many outside cafes where patrons could enjoy the pleasant weather. Some terraces were richly appointed with wrought-iron tables and white linen tablecloths, candles for soft ambience, and gleaming silverware and crystal, while others were dressed by only oilcloth covers and plastic everything.

  The terrace at Café Amelia was the former kind. More often than not, it was in such elegant alcoves where he found sex-offenders. They felt the need to ‘show-off’ their trophies among the richness of such surroundings. Their egos demanded that the conquest be paraded in public, while keeping a controlling hand around them. Like arm-candy, they wanted the world to see what they possessed.

  He surveyed the patrons while eating a large bowl of chicken and andouille gumbo. No one present revealed the dark, reddish-orange aura he sought, although there were plenty of varying shades of greens, blues, pinks, and yellows—all healthy colors. Suzanne, the waitress, was the exception. Although not specifically worrisome, her aura was purple with tinges of red at the outer edge. Her distinct color was revealing. She’d survived childhood sexual abuse, but had remained always vigilant. She suspected and saw corruption everywhere and was on the alert to defend against it. Suzanne was a wounded spiritual healer with gifts of her own if she learned to focus her energy on her own healing first.

  He’d just finished the delicious gumbo when a priest entered the café with a young boy in tow, holding tightly onto his arm and leading him to a table. They sat nearby and Alec noted the nervous look on the youth’s face as he glanced around the stylish restaurant’s veranda. From his reaction, it was likely that he had only dined in a fine establishment on special occasions with his family. The boy worried what this ‘special occasion’ might entail.

  His name was Tom and he was eleven years old, small for his age. He was an only child and his parents worked long hours. He regretted that he hadn’t gone home immediately when school let out as his parents had directed. Instead, he’d gone to the abbey yard to play with some of the other boys, planning to shoot some hoops. The others had fled as soon as Father Maddox, a new priest in the diocese, came out of the rectory, but Tom wasn’t fast enough. He’d been caught by the arm and remained ensnared even now. Tom had a sick, icky feeling in his stomach and the food was unappealing. He was noticeably uncomfortable and hadn’t figured out what to do about it, while Father Maddox was enthusiastic and elated. The priest licked his lips often in anticipation as if preparing to dine on the boy rather than the sumptuous roasted chicken he’d just ordered.

  Alec ordered a coffee and a slice of strawberry cheesecake to postpone his departure, knowing he’d been led to this restaurant for this exact opportunity. As an appetizer of oysters, creamed spinach, and artichoke crostini arrived at the nearby table, the cleric spread a napkin across Tom’s lap while imperceptibly and lightly grazing his thigh and groin. Tom bolted upright in the chair, stiff and fearful now, hoping the touch was accidental, but alarmed at the possibility it wasn’t. The other children were afraid of Father Maddox and he worried that they had good reason to shun him. If he’d only been faster, he could have gotten away with the rest of his friends.

  “Excusez-moi!” The priest exclaimed. In his fifties, he giggled giddily. His expletive and behavior seemed ridiculous to anyone observing him.

  Tom was too young to appreciate the first course of the meal. He only watched, nauseated, as his older companion eagerly scarfed down the concoction. Father Maddox sopped up the sauce with the toasted, thin slices of bread, offering one to Tom as if offering a treat to a pet. He did all of this while intermittently sipping a glass of white wine. The priest’s lips, greasy from the rich sauce, left imprints on the crystal glass while his aura flared brightly from that one simple touch—a touch he thought no one noticed. He was excited by Tom’s reaction. Pedophilia was often about power and control rather than the sexual act itself. Tom’s fear was an aphrodisiac to the old lecher.

  While Father Maddox placed servings of sliced chicken on Tom’s plate, which remained untouched and uneaten, the youth thirstily drank two glasses of water in an attempt to rinse the horrible taste from his mouth—a metallic tang of fear caused by a racing heart. Alec waited and casually drank the coffee, asking for a refill only once. Suzanne poured it at the table while she fixedly watched the nearby patrons.

  Now, the cleric and Tom were leaving. Alec left cash on the table and followed them out and onto Royal Street. He stayed out of sight, but near enough to protect the boy as he watched the interaction of undisguised greed and lust the priest displayed at each touch. Getting closer to his intention, he couldn’t keep his hands off the boy. He patted and stroked Tom’s slender shoulders, putting his hand firmly on the youth’s neck to control and lead him.

  Tom became even more frightened and prepared to run, but just past Sigle’s Antiques, the priest squeezed his neck tightly and painfully, while he grabbed a handhold of his jacket for additional control. Father Maddox wasn’t taking any chances that his prey would get away before he callously used him. He pushed Tom into a darkened alley that ran the full length from Royal to Bourbon Street. He shoved the boy along and then into a recessed doorway located halfway down the alley. The only light that could be seen was at each end from crossing streets—it was dim light at best. His cassock was open at this point and he had a handful of Tom’s hair, twisting it painfully as he forced the youth’s face toward his opened zipper, moaning in ecstasy and anticipation long before he had Tom in position.

  Tom’s eyes were wild and feverish now as he searched for an escape and found none. He tried to get away, twisting and turning in panic. He cried out, begging and pleading with Father Maddox to stop, but his pleas went unnoticed. The man was too far gone in his sick delusion.

  “You want this, you bad, bad boy. You know you do. Don’t protest and don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you wanted to suck my cock. Don’t protest. I know what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’m your priest and you honor me by sucking it. Look, it’s right in front of you. See my precious godly cock just waiting for you to suck it and kiss it. Oh, it feels so good and you want to do this for me! You love doing this for me! I bet your little prick is hard just thinking about it. Let me see,” he crooned as he reached for Tom’s privates. Filled with his own hunger, he was easily distracted before reaching the small trousers. Once again, he forced Tom’s head down as he continued to urge him, “Come on, now, that’s a good, good boy. It takes away your bad sins when you do this wonderful thing for me, your priest, and your confessor.”

  Alec was there before the vile man could force Tom’s mouth to h
is swollen, oddly-shaped penis—small on both ends while engorged in the middle. He was there in all his glory…angel or devil…it didn’t matter. He ordered Thomas to close his eyes and then grabbed a handful of the priest’s robe. The demon twisted violently, lifting the man into the air and spinning him around and away from Tom. As directed, the young boy tightly closed his eyes and moved further back into the doorway, away from the priest, away from what would happen. He was weak-kneed with relief that he’d been spared from the priest’s disgusting intentions.

  “Oh, dear God!” Father Maddox screamed out in fear. “Oh, sweet Jesus, save me from this monster! Why have you sent this demon to torture me?”

  “Nothing can save you now, Priest!” the devil growled out. “Your days of sexually molesting young boys are over! So is your life.”

  The priest fell backwards from the fierceness and heat of the many roaring voices he heard. He felt the breath of hell-fire and brimstone on his face. Tom barely had time to dart out of the way as the man landed heavily against the gate behind him.

  “I’m sorry…I won’t do it again. Please, don’t kill me. I can’t control myself…I can’t help it…please, please…you have to believe me!” the priest cried pitifully, knees quaking violently in terror as his cock went flaccid and he pissed himself. Facing his death, the priest pleaded, “Please, at least wait and allow me last rites.”

  “No,” the final pronouncement of judgment declared as thunder echoed.

  The red-eyed monster had little patience for the man or his religious beliefs. Those very beliefs had allowed him to commit his odious and loathsome crimes against the innocence of youth, using his authority in the most despicable ways. He believed that as long as he followed a prescribed doctrine and ritual, his actions were beyond reproach and always forgiven. That made his promises to stop merely lies as well.

  He’d heard it all before many times, but he knew the priest wouldn’t stop. None of them ever stopped. There was no cure for the pedophile except death or castration. Even castration wasn’t a real cure. It left them fumbling and touching without an erection, but they still abused the innocent by forcing their will and depraved desires on those who couldn’t fight them off. Disgusted, the monster used the tiger-claw to rip out his vocal chords before the priest could utter more meaningless protests, pleas, and prayers. His demon hand didn’t need to be toughened by years of painful practices; it was already hard as nails. His clawed fingers easily sliced through the flesh and then flung the bloody mass of tissue to the ground.

  Father Maddox instantly fell dead at his feet, his penis still exposed and hanging out of his zipper for the police to see when the body was discovered. There would be no doubt that someone had caught the bastard cleric in the act and ended his sorry life. Nothing else needed staging for the murder. Finished with the task, the demon was no longer needed.

  “Come, Thomas, let’s get you out of here,” Alec gently encouraged as he held out his hand. The boy took it gratefully. As they walked hand-in-hand toward the light on Bourbon Street, Alec questioned the boy about how he’d come to be in the company of the priest. Tom explained. “Has he ever done this before?”

  “No, I’ve never been alone with him before. If I’d only gone home as my parents instructed, I wouldn’t have been alone with him today,” the boy said with a shaky voice, trying hard to hold back hot tears.

  “Tears are for washing our soul, Tom. Never hold them back. Never be ashamed of the cleansing process. They make our souls stronger; therefore we are stronger. One very important thing you must remember, Thomas. It was not your fault. This, what happened here, was not your fault. This man was evil. It had nothing to do with you. The priest was evil, harming many children and it was time for it to end.”

  They were far from the scene and memories of the experience now and, the more distance between Tom and the downed cleric, the more it felt like a dream. As they walked together, the youth glanced at Alec several times and then shyly looked away each time—he had no words that could express his gratitude for salvation. As they neared the entrance to Bourbon Street, Alec remained behind, disappearing quickly once the boy had reached safety.

  “Mister, are you an angel?” Tom asked, but when he looked behind him, no one was there, his question echoing into nothingness, while the horrible memory of the priest faded even more.

  After the youth and his protector walked away from the dead priest, Suzanne turned and retraced her steps to Café Amelia. She’d known what the priest was the moment he entered the terrace with the boy. She shook her head slowly back-and-forth, confused and trying to understand what she’d seen. She wasn’t really sure what happened. The alley was dark, especially halfway into it where the incident had taken place.

  “Did I really see a devil tear out the disgusting priest’s throat?” She silently wondered. She couldn’t say with any certainty, but the priest had been punished and the boy had been saved. That was the important thing. She’d hoped to rescue the boy herself when she followed them, but there had been no need to do so. Something else saved him from the horrible experience. The waitress didn’t call in the murder. “Was it really murder?” She soundlessly mused. How could it be murder? It was more of the boy’s self-defense. Except the boy hadn’t defended himself…someone or something else had. Admittedly, she was perplexed; she wanted more time to think about the situation. She wondered how long it would be until the priest was found, but then, realized it was not a common passageway. She didn’t care if Father Maddox rotted in that alley for weeks before his body was discovered, in fact, she hoped he did. She dismissed him from her mind and returned to work her station on the terrace.

  It did indeed take hours before Father Maddox was found. A wino, stumbling along the alleyway as a shortcut, tripped over his body. He riffled though the dead priest’s pockets taking any available cash and valuables before he decided that he should tell someone. First, he went around the corner and bought a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. Then, after shoring up his confidence with the booze, he had to tell the story several times before anyone paid any attention to his prattle. It took another hour before someone finally walked into the alley to see if he was telling the truth. Once the police arrived, the commotion was in full swing with yellow crime tape securing the area from looky-loos. Pictures were taken and notes were made by a department assistant who threw up twice when he saw the torn-out throat of the victim. Flies were already crawling around the bloody, gaping hole.

  Lieutenant Albright requested patrolmen to canvass the area for witnesses, but no one had seen or heard a thing in the hours since the priest was slain. After the fracas died down somewhat, then and only then, did the coroner cover Father Maddox’s open zipper with a towel. He recalled the little lady in Jackson Square doing that very thing to her husband’s body.

  Ordinarily, Coroner Davis didn’t care about such things. Still, her small gesture had touched something in the aging, city official. Davis had completed medical school and had been the parish coroner or medical examiner for over fifteen years. Before that, he’d worked in the hospital morgue. To him, death was death. Just another cycle of life. The dead bodies he was called to attend had a lot to tell him. They talked loudly and clearly and so did the crime scenes—if anyone was listening. Most of the time, no one heard. You had to look and listen to get the message, but it was there.

  “What do you think happened here?” Albright asked Davis after scanning the nearby faces that strained to see over the tape. He noted that the reporter was there again and he deliberately left her alone.

  “I think someone got what they deserved,” Davis replied before harrumphing loudly.

  “What makes you say that?” Albright asked.

  “No one else punishes these bastards. The church turns a blind-eye to their sickness, perversion, and sins. If enough complaints are made against a priest, the damn Bishop ships off those offenders to another diocese. It’s not long until the allegations begin again. We just trade one bad priest fo
r another. It’s a crying shame! Looks like someone stumbled on him while he had someone else cornered in this doorway…,” Davis began, but the detective interrupted.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it’s true!” Davis indignantly shouted.

  “No, not the part about the church turning a blind-eye, everyone knows that…the part about him having someone cornered in this doorway?” Albright clarified.

  “Oh, well, that’s also true and easy to answer,” Davis replied calmly, his quick irritation now gone. “See these little fibers in the wood of the doorframe?” he asked, pointing a penlight in that direction. “Someone was struggling and twisting back and forth many times, trying desperately to get away. Whoever it was…they were short, probably a young boy. Priests have a predilection for young boys. It makes sense since his dick was out of his pants. It also looks like he had the boy by the hair…see the several stands on the ground? He was trying to force someone into a blow job.”

  “Is there any way to tell who it was or get DNA from the hair samples?” Albright asked next.

  “You’ve been watching too many crime dramas,” Davis replied and then chuckled lightly. “Yes, if we had the equipment and resources for that, but we don’t. The parish doesn’t provide the coroner’s office with those kinds of funds. The only thing they pay for is cause of death. This man’s throat was ripped out. From there, he instantly stopped breathing.”

  “Thanks,” Albright replied derisively. “That helps a lot.”

  “You’re welcome, Bright. I’m always glad to help,” Davis said dryly before he chuckled at the detective’s frustration.

  Chapter 13

  Vivien Simon had heard about this particular murder on the police scanner. A priest’s death in a darkened alley in New Orleans was news. She rushed to the scene, but once again, was ensconced behind yellow tape. It prevented her from moving closer to the scene or taking pictures. The best she could do was listen closely to the detective and coroner as they conversed about the incident. She didn’t realize that Lieutenant Albright, within his rights to send her far enough away to prohibit her eavesdropping, allowed her to stay.