Trinity of Darkness: The Darkness Unbound Collection

by Glenn Porzig

  "I'm Konrad Massa, sorry to bother you while you're eating, Detective," the nervous man extended his hand in introduction, but nearly dropped all of his paperwork. Drake made no move to reciprocate. Massa shuffled his papers around to fit back into the folder and sat the bundle on the table. "Do you mind if I have a seat?"

  Drake half-heartedly nodded affirmatively and the disheveled man sat down across from him. He continued chewing and staring at the man until the stranger caught on to the fact that he was expected to talk next.

  "Oh, right. I'm Konrad Massa, you may be familiar with my work."

  "And what work is that?"

  "Oh, you haven't… I mean, you aren't…? I see. Well, for many years now, more than I'd like to admit, I've been writing about the odd goings on in Pennsylvania. I used to write a 'zine back in the eighties, The Erie Triangle, you may have seen it."

  "A 'zine?"

  "A 'zine… like magazine? You know, small press. The truly independent newspaper, usually hand copied and stapled, catering to an eclectic group without the filter of the mainstream news that is often controlled by big multimedia conglomerates and most likely the government."

  "But you don't write this 'zine now?"

  "Oh, no. I'm nothing if not cutting edge, I've recently moved online with a blog. Less production costs and a wider audience. Let me give you my card, my address on the World Wide Web is on there," Massa fumbled in his jacket pocket and eventually presented a business card. He reached across the table, his arm extending over Drake's plate.

  Drake frowned and took the card. He noticed the corners were dogeared and the design on the card was unimpressive. He shoved it in his shirt pocket.

  "So, Mister Massa… what is it you want from me?"

  "You're a smart man, a trained detective, surely you know that there's strange stuff that goes on around here. You know what I mean. Supernatural or paranormal things. The stuff of legends and fairy tales, strange sightings, unexplained disappearances…"

  "The only disappearance I'm interested in this morning is my breakfast. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

  "Please, just another moment of your time…"

  "Okay. You have until I clean this plate and empty this cup, so you'd better make it quick."

  "Are you familiar with Kecksburg?"

  "I'm familiar with it, can't say that I've been there."

  "Well, I grew up there. And way back in December of sixty-five I was witness to the fireball that streaked across the sky and made a turn in mid-air before crashing into the woods. I also saw the military descend on my home town, they closed off the area and brought in an empty flatbed truck. It wasn't empty when it left."

  "That's right, they call Kecksburg 'Pennyslvania's Roswell', don't they?"

  "Naturally the Army claims they didn't find anything. That's when they admit they were ever even there at all. But I was there. I know what I saw. And ever since then I've been looking for answers… looking where the authorities say there's nothing to see."

  "And what? You think the murders are being committed by little green men?"

  "I expected more from you, Detective. I thought you were aware of the cults that had been active here over the years. The satanic cults performing human sacrifices."

  "I'm aware that there are people who have killed in ritualistic fashion as tribute to dark forces that they believed in… but I'm not about to be quoted talking to you about it in your tabloid. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm done here."

  Drake slid his empty plate away from him, stood up and drained the last drop from his cup. He placed the empty cup on the table, pushed past the self-styled paranormal investigator, and left the diner.

  ***

  "You know what today is, don't you?" asked Angela Russell. She was wearing black slacks and her navy blue windbreaker with CORONER in bold yellow block letters across her back. It wasn't quite enough to keep the morning air from chilling her deep down.

  "Yeah, I know. It's the one year anniversary of his death," Detective Drake kicked at a dirt clod, sending it tumbling down into the large hole they were both standing over. The clod fell six feet before eventually resting on the lid of a coffin. "I should know, I'm the one who sent him here."

  The tombstone above the open grave said 'Beloved Son, Lee Miller'. It had been defaced with graffiti; six-six-six and an inverted cross scrawled in red spray paint, but it didn't look fresh. Miller wasn't popular and young vandals often defaced his grave site.

  "Apparently it happened overnight. Nobody saw or heard anything unusual. The groundskeeper found the plot freshly dug this morning. He called the police right away."

  "This isn't good," Drake grumbled.

  "What do you make of it? Family member of one of his victims taking out their frustration?"

  "It could be, but I'm concerned it's worse than that."

  "A sick fan looking for a grisly souvenir?"

  "I wouldn't rule that out either, but I still think it's something worse."

  Angela looked down at the coffin. There were no visible signs of damage to it, aside from a few nicks and scrapes from a shovel.

  "The coffin is intact, didn't seem to take much damage… so whoever did this wasn't necessarily looking to desecrate the grave…"

  "Right. I think whoever is responsible treated the grave with an almost reverence."

  "Until the part where they took the head off his corpse, you mean?" Angela interjected.

  The upper lid of the casket was open and the remains of serial killer Lee Miller were still there—except for his head. It was missing.

  "If there was an accomplice, or there is a copycat, then my money is on them being responsible for taking Miller's skull. And they have bigger plans for it than keeping it as a souvenir."

  ***

  "I actually think I remember seeing The Erie Triangle on the shelves at some gas stations and drug stores," mused O'Bannon. "So this Massa guy thinks that aliens are killing the girls?"

  "Well, not exactly. He thinks there's some sort of paranormal activity involved… and I'd say he's right. He just happens to also believe in UFOs," said Drake.

  "So he's only fifty percent crazy?"

  "To be fair, neither of us believed in the supernatural before we encountered it for ourselves… so maybe we shouldn't be ridiculing him. He says he was witness to the Kecksburg UFO incident as a kid. You're old enough to remember that one, right?"

  O'Bannon cleared his throat. "I'm old, not ancient. But yeah, I remember it… word spread about it back then, and it's popped up on some of those unexplained mystery shows over the years. I like to fall asleep to those."

  "So, you're saying there's nothing to it?"

  "I didn't say that. I just said I'd heard of it, by word of mouth, and on the TV. There's probably something to it, but nobody can get their story straight. Some people say it was a UFO—others say it was a Soviet space capsule—and some even claim it was a Nazi time machine!"

  "A time machine? Okay, now I see why you're skeptical."

  "Just because I'm skeptical doesn't mean I haven't had my picture taken with it."

  "Wait… you had your picture taken with a UFO?"

  "Well, it was a prop. One of them tabloid shows made it for their story and left it behind. The locals propped it up as a tourist attraction… I was down there—how could I pass that up? Dang thing looks like a big brown acorn. Better than the biggest ball of twine, if you ask me."

  "Okay. Enough about the UFOs. What do you make of the missing head of Lee Miller?"

  "Well, it's certainly sensational. I bet that one will be all over the news."

  "That's all you've got for me?"

  "I may be experienced, but that's well outside my realm of experience."

  "I think whoever took the head is our killer…"

  "And I think you learned from the best. So if you think that, then you're probably right… unless you think it was aliens," chuckled O'Bannon.

  ***

  Jessica sat down on the couch in
frustration.

  "I don't know what's going on with Brandy. She was supposed to meet me last night. I've called her numerous times, but she never answers—and she's never returned my calls."

  Her husband, Chris, paced around the living room, a look of concern on his face.

  "I don't know what to tell you, she never showed up here…"

  "She never showed up at work either. The shift manager was pissed. It's just not like her to blow off work like that."

  "Jess, how long have you known her? Are you really surprised a young girl like that would ignore her responsibilities? In this day and age?"

  Jessica frowned. "It just doesn't seem like the girl I know. Brandy seemed to have her shit together."

  "How much do you want to bet that she met some hot guy and ran off with him?"

  "She was very single, as she put it. I know she was looking to meet someone…"

  "See. That's what happened then, she's probably in a hotel room passed out drunk with her new boyfriend and just completely lost track of time."

  "She's going to lose more than time if she just doesn't show up for work like that again. They don't put up with nurses missing shifts without calling in."

  "So, you not only had to go in early for your shift…"

  "…but I also had to work harder all night because we were short staffed? I certainly did," Jessica finished his sentence. "If she didn't get sick, or have a car wreck, then I'm going to have a few not so pleasant words with her."

  "Well, you relax and stop worrying about her. I'm sure she's fine."

  "The thing is… it's not safe to be meeting random guys—not with that serial killer on the loose."

  "Serial killer? Don't be silly. What are the odds that someone you know would be targeted by a serial killer? I mean, think of how many people are in the city—how many are in the state. You'd probably have a better chance of winning the lottery."

  "I know you're right. It's just that girls have been murdered… and the killer is still out there…"

  "That's true… he could be anyone…"

  ***

  There was a good turn out the evening of the grand opening of Belle's Books and Candles. People were lined up outside the door to meet former television anchor Vicki Taylor and pick up her debut novel about the intriguing local murders that had spanned over a decade.

  The champagne was flowing and people seemed to be enjoying themselves. Drake was happy that Belle's shop was getting a good boost from the book launch. He had even heard ads for it on the radio.

  He was surprised by the number of women in attendance. He thought the gruesome subject matter would have turned many of them away. But these days the news was full of tragedy and murder, there was even an entire cable TV network devoted to such stories.

  Belle looked exquisite; her attire, hair, and makeup were elegant and professional. He had to try hard not to stare.

  Vicki was being congenial, obviously enjoying meeting her adoring public. They were all eager to get their copies of her book autographed, and she even posed for pictures with some of her fans.

  Vicki wasn't Drake's favorite person, but he hadn't seen this side of her before. Their encounters in the past had consisted almost entirely of her pressuring him for tips about his investigations. There hadn't been much love lost between them. But now she was no longer a reporter, and her book was already written. Maybe he could finally relax around her.

  Drake kept his eyes peeled for anyone suspicious. If there was an accomplice or a copycat, then it would be hard for them to pass up being here tonight.

  Vicki saw Drake and called him over. She picked up a copy of her book from a stack of them on her table, flipped it open and personalized it to Detective Drake. She smiled warmly and handed it to him.

  "Here you are, Detective. I'm sure you're eager to see what I had to say about your involvement in the case."

  Drake hesitantly took the book. "That's very generous of you. I appreciate it."

  A few flashes went off as people took pictures of the exchange with their cell phones. Drake scowled at them. He didn't want to be in the spotlight. Vicki could keep that all for herself. He put the book under his arm and made his way past her line of admirers and closer to Belle.

  Vicki quickly went back to the next person in line who had been waiting patiently for his turn. He extended his hand. Vicki shook it.

  "Nice to meet you…"

  "Chris."

  "Chris, is that who I should make the book out to?"

  "Sure. It's an honor to meet you. I'm not actually from around here—but I've seen you on TV—and I find what happened here to be fascinating."

  "Well, I certainly hope you enjoy the book, Chris," she handed him the signed book and smiled her well practiced smile as a cue for him to move on.

  "Oh, you wouldn't believe how eager I am to read it," he seemed momentarily lost as he stared at the face of Lee Miller on the glossy cover of the book and then looked up and smiled back at her.

  "Detective, so glad you could make it," Belle smiled at Drake and made a slight bow as she excused her self from the man she'd been speaking with. "I see you've already met Miss Taylor, she's quite an interesting woman."

  "Oh, you could say that…" Drake composed himself, not wanting to speak ill of Belle's guest. "You must be happy with the turnout tonight."

  "I couldn't be happier, especially now that you're here."

  Drake was caught off guard by her comment, but before he could react to it another man came up and broke into their conversation.

  "Belle!"

  "Chris! Thanks for coming out."

  Drake's momentary elation subsided. Maybe she was just a good host who made everyone feel special. The man speaking with Belle was behaving very familiar with her. Drake didn't feel comfortable standing there watching them interact. It seemed like a good time to make an exit.

  "Belle," Drake interjected. "I need to get going. Have a wonderful evening."

  ***

  The sun was setting as Detective Drake left Belle's Books and Candles. The line of people coming in was down to a trickle. His mind was on whether he should have stayed longer when he almost bumped into a young woman with light blond hair. A look of recognition crossed both of their faces at the same time.

  "Pardon me, I wasn't watching where I was going. Aren't you the girl from those ghost hunting videos? Amelia, right?"

  She seemed a little embarrassed to be recognized.

  "Yes. Amelia Vigil. I'm often on the ESP podcast. And aren't you Detective Drake, the man who brought Lee Miller to justice?"

  "Brought him to justice? I like the ring of that. Yeah, that was me."

  "So, you're a fan of Vicki Taylor?"

  "Well… I wouldn't say that…"

  "I'm not really either, but I am eager to read her book. I almost feel like I'm part of the story with the experiences I've had investigating the Miller home."

  Drake perked up.

  "Oh? You've been to the Miller home? Recently? I thought that was abandoned."

  "It was, but someone's living in it now. They've been renovating it."

  "And you were there because?"

  "Because they had a sighting."

  "Ah, a 'sighting'. And did you have a 'sighting' when you went there?"

  Amelia hesitated. She believed in her abilities. Believed the experiences she'd had over the years. But this was a police detective. She didn't expect him to believe anything that he didn't experience for himself. She edged away from the entrance to the store, out of earshot of the stragglers coming in for autographs. The detective followed her.

  "The lady who owns the Miller home… she saw something. She called us in and we did a session there… and I saw it too…"

  "What did you see?"

  "It was a shadow man. I know it's hard to believe, but it was just like you hear about. A living shadow, shaped like a man, but cold… and evil…" Her voice drifted off.

  Drake could tell she was visibly shaken by relivi
ng the terrifying experience.

  "It's okay," he reassured her. "I believe you. I've… seen a few things myself…"

  She smiled up at him. She was surprised by his admission, but grateful that he had shared it with her. Too many people didn't believe. It was hard to trust someone enough to open up and share her gift—especially when it was a stranger.

  "Hey, would it be possible for me to see that footage… I mean, before you post it?"

  "I haven't brought myself to watch it yet—I'm not sure how much it really shows—but yeah. I don't think the guys would mind me sharing it with you."

  "That would be great," Drake handed her his card. "Do you happen to have a card?"

  "Sure do," she reached in her handbag and pulled out her card. It said ESP and had little cartoon ghosts on it. "I'll drop you an e-mail with a link to the file."

  "I'd appreciate that. Amelia, it's been a pleasure to meet you."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Detective."

  She started to walk over and join the autograph line when Drake reached out and touched her shoulder. She turned to look at him and he was holding out the copy of Face of Evil that the author had given him.

  "Here. There's no sense in standing in that line… and I'm too busy to read anything at the moment. Besides, I already know how it ends. You take it."

  "Oh, I couldn't…"

  "No, really. Take it. I insist."

  Amelia took the book and smiled up at him.

  "I hope you enjoy the book, and I'll be looking for that e-mail."

  ***

  Drake sat at his usual table at Gypsy's Diner. He had a lot on his mind. Vicki Taylor was in town stirring up interest in the Lee Miller case, and bringing unwanted attention to him. Amelia had told him that the Miller home was occupied again… and haunted. And on top of all of that, there was still a killer on the loose. A third victim could show up at any time.

  Not to mention the fact that Belle had seemed interested in him, only to quickly turn her attention to another man. Maybe she just didn't want to appear too eager? Or maybe she was just naturally friendly to everyone and he'd mistaken that for interest in him? He never could understand women.

  Just then Bryce McKenzie showed up to take his order.