by Roy Bright
Officer Daniels sighs for a second time, disappointed that he hasn’t been allowed to deliver his findings in a Poirot-esque fashion. Blunt and matter of fact he answers, “You’re looking for a 1970 Ford Mustang Mach One with Goodyear Polygas tires. The tires will be identified by stating their make in white raised letters on the walls.”
Gary scribbles the information on his pad. “Officer Daniels, I hope you understand that given the circumstances of this case, time here is of the absolute essence. I appreciate that I may have cut you short in our little conversation and appeared rude by making you get to the point, but I mean this now as I say it, you have been of huge help to me and this investigation at this crucial stage. So thank your team for this incredibly valuable piece of information.”
“It’s my pleasure, Detective. I hope you get this all wrapped up pretty damn quickly, for Officer Starrens’ sake.”
The sincerity in Keith’s tone makes him smile. “We will, Keith, and this info will help us find the missing child as fast as possible as well, I’m sure.”
“Yes, of course, Detective. Good luck.” The line goes dead.
“What he say?” Pete enquires, as Gary replaces the receiver in its cradle.
“We’re looking for a black 1970 Ford Mustang Mach One. Get onto Traffic and have them pull the feeds from cameras in and around the vicinity of the Orphanage, Southern State Parkway, the highways and county road. Tell them to also check the roads leading east.”
“East? You don’t think they would have headed for the city?”
“No. I dunno, I just have a weird feeling they have headed east. I can’t explain it but, that’s what I feel.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.” Pete leans across the desk, grabs the piece of paper with the vehicle make on it from Gary and starts to walk away.
“Pete. Who’s on the Father Mallory detail? I want an update.”
“Jesus, dude, just about every fucking cop in the building. Look around, man.”
He does and realizes that almost everyone in the Department, both detective and uniform, is engaged in an activity.
Pete continues, “An officer down is bad enough bro, but we also have a missing child on our hands. Many of the team in the room are parents themselves and everyone wants a result on this one. I know you do, cos of... well... you know.” He once again, regrets his choice of words and closes his eyes. “Gary, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… or anything. Bah, twice in one day. I’m sorry, man—”
He smiles and raises his hand. “Dude, seriously, no need to apologize, honestly, I know what you mean and you are right. I feel a weird sense of responsibility for finding this child, I mean, even more so than just doing my duty. I can’t explain it, I just feel that it is very important that we find this girl and I admit, I think the thought of Jacob is also spurring me on.” He leans back in his chair, sighs, shakes his head and rubs his face. “Aggh, I dunno, Pete; I’m at sixes and sevens with this one I really am.”
Pete smiles and studies him for a moment. He isn’t used to seeing him this stumped. He waves the piece of paper in the air as he leaves the room. “I’m on this car business. Speak to Smitty; I think he’s on point with the search for the priest.”
He smiles and nods back at him. “Thanks, Pete.” Standing, he makes his way over to the incident board.
Six hours ago it was just a plain old wall at the back of the room. Now, it is a mass of information, the contents sprouting out in different directions, attempting to tell a story. Photographs, lists, maps and background information on suspects adorn the cream plasterboard wall, waiting for someone to answer all of the questions it poses.
He stares at the picture of Father Mallory. Pete was right, they couldn’t dismiss the theory that another person was there in the room with the priest and Dan, but he just didn’t feel that to be the case. He saw the look on the Father’s face when he had questioned him about the symbol in the classroom, had seen the look of recognition in his eyes although he had denied any knowledge of it. No! The priest is involved in this somehow, but how the hell does a seventy-eight-year-old man overpower a twenty-five-year-old police officer? A goddamn precinct boxing champion no less! That just isn’t possible. There would have been no reason whatsoever for Dan to enter the room before the Father, it just doesn’t make sense.
He stares deeper into the wall, begging it for answers.
Come on! Something, anything! Give me a break on this, something to work with, tell me what the hell is going on!
Sergeant Dave ‘Smitty’ Smith interrupts his thoughts. “Hey, buddy, Pete tells me you’re looking for an update on the missing priest?”
Without turning, he replies, “Hell yeah, Smitty, you got any leads?”
“Leads? Buddy, I got something better than a lead. We fucking found him!”
He spins around. “Alive? Where?”
“No to the first unfortunately, and over in Amityville of all places to the second.”
Gary rolls his eyes. “Okay, Smitty, let’s get a lid on the Amityville connection right away. I don’t want everyone going mumbo-jumbo superstitious on me. The fact he was found over in Amityville is pure coincidence and I don’t want the goddamn media turning this into another, devil-inspired, witch-hunt. Understood?”
“Whatever you say, man, but I don’t think it will work. The media are gonna have a field day with this one. His neck was broken. His head had been turned all the way around, twice! And Gary, he was found in the back garden of that house!”
They stare in silence for a moment.
The booming voice of Captain Banks breaks it as he enters the incident room.
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
Everyone stops and focuses on him.
“It is with deepest regret that I announce Dan Starrens died in Good Samaritan twenty-three minutes ago. Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family and of course, details of the funeral arrangements will be given to you as soon as possible. I expect everyone not on duty to attend. Counselling is also available for any officer who wishes it, please make an appointment with the department Grief Counsellor at an appropriate time should you feel the need to do so.”
He pauses, gathering his thoughts, the need to inspire his troops evident on his face although no one in this room needed a pep talk after the devastating news they had just received.
“People, it goes without saying that each and every one of you will be angry. This case will have you baying for blood. But I need to remind all of you, that we still have a missing six-year-old child out there and she will be scared, alone and in need of your resolute and unwavering determination to find her. I want a good result on this one and I want it fast. Many of you will also be learning of the discovery of Father Mallory’s body and the location and nature in which it was found.”
A muted chatter of voices resounds throughout the room.
He silences them.
“I don’t want to hear a single, solitary word of connection between his condition and that of the area in which he was found, is that clear?”
The question was rhetorical. Everyone knew it. All remained silent.
“Good! Detective Cross?”
“Captain?”
“My office, Gary. Please bring me up to speed on this entire affair.” “Yes, Sir.”
Captain Banks takes his leave.
Gary makes his way through the room and follows him.
The room explodes into a furor of conversation and action once again. Everyone doubles their efforts.
Ten
Friday 9 November 2012, 21:43
Father Mallory steals into the night, racing away from the terrible scene he has left behind. He is mumbling, angry, a one-sided argument raging within him.
If that damn policeman hadn’t insisted on escorting him all the way to his room, he would still be alive now. He had kept telling him over and over that he wasn’t in need of any further assistance, that he could make it on his own.
‘No
, no, Father. It is my duty to make sure you get back to your room safe and sound.’
Stupid fucking kid, well he ain’t smiling now, not after I stuck my knife into his neck. God, what a stupid fucking kid. ‘Oh, Officer Starrens, would you be a good man and please retrieve my slippers from under my bed? I think I kicked them there this morning and it’s just a little too hard for me to bend down and get them.’ I cannot believe he fell for that.
I almost didn’t stab him in the neck out of sheer surprise. I almost forgot to grab the knife from out of my dresser drawer, thinking that at any moment, he would suspect what I was planning and end my ruse. ‘Are you sure they are not there, Officer Starrens? I’m positive I kicked them under the bed this morning. Have another look please.’ Damn kid. He would still be alive if he weren’t so fucking stupid.
Although the priest pitied the young man, he felt no remorse. He had failed to carry out his job to the detail in which his Master presented it to him and there would be consequences; how severe would remain to be seen, but consequences no less.
If only those two idiotic stupid beasts had done as he had asked. All they had to do was portal in at half four, kill the woman and grab the child. He had provided them with the perfect entry point, knowing that she would be coaching the girl with after-hours learning. Had etched out their Sigel with the black candle into the blackboard, it simply could not have gone wrong. Except they were late, most likely bedding whores. Thank God, that bitch Anesta had gone back into the classroom when she did. She would have raised the alarm for sure if they had chased down both her and the girl. Why the hell hadn’t that idiot Masaki just grabbed Charlotte as soon as he had her? Stupid fucking demon thinks it’s smarter than everyone else. Well, it isn’t, not by a long shot. This isn’t my fault. I did everything I was supposed to do. This isn’t my fault.
He stops and tucks himself into a shop doorway as a police cruiser rolls past a few hundred yards ahead of him. He has made little progress in his escape and is running out of options.
Surely by now they will have found the body of the cop and will be out searching for him. There is no way he will outrun the police at his age. Time is running out and fast. He needs to get out of here, needs to find a way to get to a safe place, but how and where? His Master will surely come looking for him and he had better have his story straight when he does. The promise of eternal life is what had driven him to this madness and he will be damned if he is to be denied that gift now. After all the years of service it was his turn to get what was owed. The cancer eating away at his body was winning the fight and his time short.
He had been overjoyed when the Dark Prophet manifested itself after the ritual, pleased with him, presenting him with an option. One that the God he once followed had never come to him with. That other was the false God, the Deceiver. Darkness was his true ally and it would spare him the agony of death. All he had to do was present the child to it in the final week of her sixth year. That was all. Not a difficult task. A task that couldn’t fail. Goddamn! Those two idiots made his blood boil.
A plan, I need a plan. The cabin. Yes. He would go to the cabin.
The cabin was a retreat owned by the church in Caumsett, just north of Huntington, a place where the various organizations would take their kids during the summer months, where they could learn new skills and participate in all manner of outdoor activities. The cabin would be deserted now, abandoned until next spring when volunteers would occupy it to bring it back up to specification for the visits in the summer.
Yes, that’s it. He would go to the cabin. He would need to lie low for a short time, change his attire, blend in as best he could and make his way north. It wasn’t far but it was far enough and would take him a day at least, as long as no one recognized him on the bus to Huntington. He expects that there would be some sort of picture of him on the television, a news report pleading with citizens to find this man. Well, as clichéd as it was, dark sunglasses and a hat would have to do. He would have to steal those items as he couldn’t go back to the orphanage anymore. He moans and curses to himself. For every option presented to him, his age sweeps in making it redundant. He rallies himself. No! He would have to try somehow.
He steps out of the doorway and continues to walk up the main street, past shops, benches and beautiful ornamental flower displays.
It’s a nice night for a walk, he thinks to himself and then realizes how ridiculous that thought is. He is a wanted murderer, of a cop no less. This was as bad as it gets, so no, it’s not a nice night for a walk, Henry.
He stops once again, remembering the police cruiser that passed the top of the street a few minutes ago.
He may have been successful in outfoxing the Japanese many years back; evading, covering and then sprinting with ease, but he was far from that level of skill in his autumn years and he was growing weary, plus the cancer in his chest was killing his body’s motivation to walk a damn sight faster.
He ducks into an alleyway to his right to catch his breath.
Ambling past garbage cans and a telegraph pole, he laughs to himself as he takes in the view. All that would complete this surrealism is if Officer Dibble and Top Cat ran past in some ridiculous and sardonic scene. He feels that he is losing his mind.
As he rounds the corner at the end of the alleyway, all thoughts of making it to the cabin dissipate. He freezes, unable to move. Fear grips him. A shadow creeps towards him, engulfing the entire alley in darkness. The meagre lighting that was just about keeping it lit now gives way to its superior opposite. Father Henry Mallory knows what is coming. There is no point running, even if he had the legs to do so. All he can do now, is wait until the shadow stands before him, touches him, and speaks. His entire body goes numb with fear. He wants to scream. Not only would that be futile, but that particular action now just seems alien to him, as though he has never known how to do it, or even possess it in the first place. He waits for the shadow.
It is upon him.
As it forms into the shape of a man, albeit featureless with burning yellow eyes, it speaks to him. Demonic.
“Father. Nice night for a walk, eh?”
Henry shakes his head as it echoes his earlier sentiment, still unable to find the courage to speak.
“Speechless, are we? Well, my dramatic entrances do tend to have that effect on people.” It smiles at him.
The smile feels pleasing, almost warming as though you could dive into its charm and be lost in its soothing waters. Yet no matter how charming this smile appeared, the priest knew the truth of what it was and all the charm that adorned its demeanor would not change that fact, not one bit.
“So, Henry, it appears we ran into a bit of a SNAFU with the whole ‘make sure the kid is ready to be collected in its final week’... thing.”
Silence.
“Oh, come now, Henry, no need to go all pensive and coy with me. Speak up, man, and let’s have no more of this… quiet, between us.”
“Errrr, I don’t know what went wrong, Master,” he says, shaking off just enough fear to speak, albeit his ability to pronounce his words with confidence almost nonexistent. “I mean, I do know what went wrong, but it wasn’t my fault.”
“Wasn’t your fault? Then whose fault was it, Henry?”
It is teasing the priest, playing with him, enjoying this game of power, relishing every moment of the man’s fear, savoring his cowardice.
“It was Masakai and Kento, Master. They failed to show at the stated time, and didn’t take both the child and woman by surprise.” His confidence was growing. “Besides, all that idiot Masakai had to do was grab her. He went on some insane hunting game, playing cat and mouse with her and I’m sure they were disobeying the order to capture. It was as if he was set to kill the child.” He becomes aware that he may be talking himself into trouble and adds, “I told them, Master, I told them both. Kill the woman and capture the child. They never listen. I did the best I could, Master, I’m sorry but they just never listen.”
Dar
kness stares at him, a wry smile on his face.
This was not going well. Henry knew it and he could tell Darkness loved it.
“Henry,” it says, “Those two are useless but they are still my children, of sorts. I will deal with them appropriately when the time comes, of that you can be sure. But you are not of the same lineage and quite frankly, priest,” its face turns menacing as it roars: “I couldn’t give two fucks about you! I told you, priest, did I not, that the child was to be ready for delivery to me in the final week of her sixth year, no later than three days before her birth. I told you, priest, did I not, that it was your responsibility that nothing was to go wrong. I explained that in this week I personally cannot confront this child. I can only do so in her final moments. It was of vital importance that you saw to it that she was captured and taken to the required place, ready for the end. Did I not tell you this, priest?”
Henry Mallory is crying. His tears are deafening to his own ears, the pressure brought on by intense anxiety causing his body’s pulse to pound within them. There are no more words he can deliver, no more excuses he can come up with and there is no second chance for him. He closes his eyes and places the palms of his hands over his ears. Within them, a ringing grows, intensifying, piercing. He is at the absolute peak of terror and it will be the final sensation his mortal body experiences.
Darkness grabs Henry’s head in both hands and jerks it to the right and all the way around. He looks into the face of the dead priest and enjoys every bit of the sight of it, locked in the grimace of death, eyes shut, mouth wide open. It laughs and twists the priest’s head round a full circle one more time, his neck now resembling that of a grotesque helter-skelter. It relishes the image and peers into his face, then picks at his eyelids ripping them off one by one.
The priest’s white, glazed eyes glisten in the tears it had created.
Darkness speaks in a soft manner; his beast-like roar regressed, replaced with a soothing voice. “Oh, Henry, you did do the best you could really. It wasn’t your fault old bean. Apology accepted.”