“Once the ritual was completed, I released the circle and left them there to nourish the forest and the earth with their sacrifice. I retrieved my clothing, washing the blood from my body and face the best I could with damp leaves and a jug of water I found at their campsite. I poured the rest on the fire and left that place forever, seeking out my next destination, the next place my dark lord would send me.”
Catherine sat back, pleased to have released the story of her first sacrifices. I could see it excited her, as a fine sheen of sweat dampened her hairline and upper lip. She looked so pleased, so goddamn smug, I wanted to scream at her.
I was shaken, mostly, by the passion with which she told the story, the loving detail she’d given to it. There was no doubt I believed her. She was seized with a fervent desire to return to that time, to kill again. It was there, in her posture, in every fiber of her being, glowing from her body in radiant waves. She looked like a woman who’d just spent an hour on the receiving end of great pleasure. With an iron will, I stopped myself from shaking violently or curling into a ball in the corner.
“That’s a fascinating story, Catherine,” I finally replied, infusing as much disdain in my voice as I could muster. “Where did this supposed murder take place, I wonder, that you could just walk into the woods and walk right out?”
“You’ll believe,” she whispered. “You already do.”
“I’ll need a little more to go on than bloody dreams you had as a prepubescent teen, Catherine. How about some evidence? Tell me where to have the officers look for these bodies you say you left artfully arranged in the forest.”
“Sure, Sophia, no problem.”
I hid my surprise and turned to Shaw, who I noticed was looking a little green around the gills. “Officer Shaw, do you have an atlas around that Catherine and I can use?”
He cleared his throat a few times, then croaked out, “Sure, no problem,” unconsciously echoing Catherine. He got on his radio to find us an atlas or map of the state.
Catherine still sat back in her chair, now humming and swinging her feet like a happy schoolchild waiting for a treat. It was unnerving, and set my teeth on edge.
After a brief wait, an officer brought a map of the state, similar to the ones you can buy at a gas station. We unfolded it on the table’s surface, and I pointed to it. “Where do we start?”
She pointed to a blank spot just south of Lock Haven, a nowhere place in Clinton County nestled in the swampy area between several major waterways. With the Blue Ridge Mountains to the northwest, finding bodies would be difficult.
“We’ll get some officers from Clinton County to start looking,” Shaw said over my shoulder. His tone made it clear he thought the chances of finding anything were pretty slim, too.
I stood, my time with Catherine at an end for the day. I could hardly believe I’d been there so long already, could hardly believe I had to come back again to hear more of her filth. Shaw preceded me from Catherine’s cell, but she called to me and I turned. “See you tomorrow!” she sang out.
I said nothing but clutched the map tighter, gripping my briefcase handle so hard my knuckles turned white. I retreated down the Arm H to the main artery with Shaw in the lead. And it was a retreat. Catherine’s confession to two brutal murders affected me deeply. I felt as though the bottom of the world was a gaping maw beneath my feet, waiting to swallow me alive. People disappeared all the time, I kept thinking, and sometimes people like Catherine were the reason why.
Shaw seemed to sense I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, so he ushered me into his office without a word. We sat, pouring silently over the map of Pennsylvania, marking the place she’d pointed to with a red circle of ink. I felt nauseous, thinking how closely it resembled a circle of blood.
I finally broke the silence. “Did you believe her?”
“Without question. It’s unfortunate she’s stark raving mad. I’m sure her lawyer will play the mentally fucked up card and I really wanted her to burn. Pun intended.”
“She’s not, though. Not crazy in the traditional sense.”
“Were you in the same room?” he said, incredulous.
“Listen, I’m no psychiatrist but I get the sense she’s just messing with us. Me, in particular.”
“So you don’t think she did it?”
“Of course I do. I just don’t think she’s crazy. Crazy people don’t know right from wrong. For all that she’s cloaking her actions with her ‘belief’ about the ‘dark lord’ telling her to do it, I think it’s a sham. She knows what she did was wrong. She’s fucking with us.”
“You could be right. I was just hoping she would be transferred out to a psych ward soon,” he sighed.
“Hey, I’ve got to run and check in with my boss. He’s being a pain in the ass...I’ll be back in the morning for our next fun-filled installment.”
He walked me to my car again. Before I could get in, he grabbed me in a spontaneous hug, and then stepped away quickly, as if worried I would slap him. I managed to keep my reaction to myself but my flesh was warm beneath my clothing everywhere he’d touched. Bemused, I got in my car and drove away. I saw him, still standing there, in my rearview mirror. He raised his hand in good-bye.
As I put the prison in my dust, I noticed two enormous ravens perched on the portico over the double entry gates. They watched me leave. I shuddered with atavistic fear, and crossed myself, switching hands on the steering wheel to then make the sign of the evil eye.
7-The Chariot
When I arrived at the prison the following morning, Shaw was nowhere to be found. I headed down the main arm of the building toward the hub, pausing to peek in his office but not finding him there.
At the bullet-proof glass encased officer’s station, another uniformed officer--”Deputy Reynolds, ma’am”--escorted me to Arm H. I saw Shaw waiting halfway down and I greeted him, puzzled.
He nodded to his officer, who returned back up the arm to the Hub. Shaw led me aside, his firm, warm grip welcome on my upper arm.
“There was some excitement in the middle of the night. As a result, her lawyer is insisting he be present for any further meetings with his client, in spite of her wishes. He’s an officious little prick, I’d like to…well, never mind.”
“What happened?”
“One of my officers on guard duty at the main gate yesterday evening took a shot at one of those damned birds perched on the concrete on the top span. His partner said he was getting irritated with their noise, complaining they were shitting all over everything. He drew his revolver and fired a shot. As soon as he hit it, the fucking thing toppled to the ground, flapping and shrieking, while the other one dive bombed the officer who’d shot its friend, clawing and pecking at him. He started firing at the second bird, shot his partner in the leg and ended up shooting himself in the face.”
“Oh, no…”
“According to matching video surveillance information, at the same time that the bird was shot, Catherine Meara began screaming in her cell. Video shows her night guard on duty backing away from her door with his hands over his ears. I don’t live far, and since I’m the one in charge around here, they call me when shit hits the fan. I got here as fast as I could, came in through the side door, and was just in time to hear her screaming in there. I opened her cell and found her laying on her cot with her eyes closed, her mouth open wide and the most hellacious noise coming from her. If she has vocal chords left I’ll be amazed. I radioed for a medic, but they were already on their way for the officers out front. I hadn’t even heard about that yet. I hauled ass out front and sure enough, there was a fucking massacre out there. I’ve got the fucking warden in his office, in my prison, asking questions and everyone’s on edge in this place today because of that bitch.”
I gazed at his outburst, wide eyed. He ran his hands through his hair, turning it into a sandy, untidy mess. I touched his forearm, lightly. “I’m sorry Brad. About your officers, I mean.”
He sighed and said, “The worst par
t is that those damned things are still out there on the mantel, mocking me.”
“They are both still there? I thought you said your officer killed one? I didn’t see either of them on my way in this morning.”
“They’re both there. Look at them closely before you leave today.” He gave me a look I couldn’t decipher out of the corner of his eye. As if I would know how there were still two birds...I needed to address this quickly before it got out of hand. “You don’t think...I’m what she is, do you?”
“No, I do not think you are a fucked up nutcase, psycho witch bitch.”
“Well that’s a relief!”
“I am beginning to see why she picked you, though.”
I bristled a little. “Oh?”
“I am beginning to see why she picked you, though.”
“You have something different than most people. You can’t deny it Sophia. I think we may have need of that something, whatever it is, before it’s all said and done.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I guess thanks for the vote of confidence. So–let’s go face the dragon, shall we?”
I smiled at him, and he smiled back. It didn’t reach all the way up to his eyes, like usual, but it something at least. “Come on,” I joked. “Lawyers aren’t all that bad, are they?”
He snorted. “Tell me if you still feel the same way in a few hours.”
We entered the cell together. I was still feeling confident until I was introduced to the lawyer.
Ruben Maxwell looked exactly like a ferret, which is cute on a ferret but not on a human. He was short, much shorter than Shaw, with small, darting black eyes and a sharply pointed face. The lack of chin combined with his receding widow’s peak only heightened the effect. Shaw introduced me to him as Ms. Pascale of the Philly Herald, as requested by his client. Maxwell’s limp, damp handshake made me want to wipe my hand on my skirt but I felt doing it would be rude. I sat in my usual chair. Another had been placed beside Catherine for her ferret.
After a few minutes of listening to his nasally voice whine about how he’d been left out, and how he now demanded copies of my taped conversations with Catherine, I abandoned all compunctions I harbored about rudeness where he was concerned. I simply waited for him to wind down, then made it a point to turn on my voice recorder as ostentatiously as possible. I addressed my comments to Catherine.
“Good morning, Catherine. How are you feeling? I understand there was a disturbance last night?”
“No! No, no, no. You may not ask my client any questions that do not pertain to the subject of her request,” Maxwell interjected.
Catherine turned her head toward him, slowly, on creaking neck joints. She stared at him for long moments, unblinking, completely silent. He fidgeted, then sighed. “Fine, okay, whatever.”
Catherine turned back to me. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her voice was raspy. She whispered, “Don’t let them hurt the ravens anymore, Sophia. That’s my job.”
A chill went down my spine but I kept it together. “Sure Catherine. I’ll tell them not to hurt your birds. Are you able to talk today? Do you wish to continue where we left off? You’d killed the two victims near Lock Haven, wasn’t it? What happened next?”
“We are alike, you know,” she said, ignoring my questions as usual. “You told Officer Shaw you were nothing like me, but you are. We are two sides to the same coin. Both of us orphans, raised to become witches.”
I ignored her statement. She knew nothing of my grandmother. “Your parents are dead? Do you want to tell me about that? What was your childhood like, Catherine? Did it contribute to these murders?”
She gave me a cold look, her voice haughty and distant. “That’s none of your business, Sophia.”
“Well, Catherine, you brought it up.”
“The third raven I sacrificed was a boy. An older boy, college age, not a child, but still a boy. I’m a waitress, you know. I work at a place for a while until I find a suitable sacrifice for the Horned God, and then move on. He tells me where to go, where to find them. I was waiting tables at a diner near Shickshinny when the boy came in to the restaurant and sat at one of my tables. He was a beautiful boy. Thick brown hair, slightly curled at the ends. Sea green eyes. Charming, that’s what he was. He charmed me.” Catherine’s scream roughened voice took on a dreamy quality. “He was so pretty and I loved him, a little, as soon as I saw him. It was the love, my love for him that killed him. The dark lord is a jealous consort,” she whispered, tears forming pools in her strange eyes, shimmering on her bottom lashes. “I’d wanted him so very much, you see, and then he had to die and take his beauty with him. I raged against it, vowed to the Horned God that he would not have the boy, but it was no use.
“I waited on him, took his order, and gave him special attention. I wanted his last meal to be the best. He flirted with me shamelessly, this pretty, charming young boy. Asked for my number. I said I’d go one better, and that my shift was ending in an hour. I let him know he could pick me up, if he wanted. He said he wanted.
“He returned like he promised, the poor foolish, pretty boy. His eyes were so wonderful. I wish I could have kept them. He asked me where we should go, so I suggested parking on a hill somewhere to enjoy the stars and get to know each other. He seemed surprised, this boy who surely had a way with women, but he was eager and that was all that was needed. We went parking, and he hesitated to touch me. I offered him some weed, to relax him. The drug makes them slow, easier to surprise, but he declined. I could tell he wanted to make a move on me, to touch my skin with his, but he was too scared. It was good he was afraid, for I fear what would have happened to me if I were unfaithful to the dark lord, and I would not have stopped him had he touched me.
“We talked, instead, or rather he did, nervously and for hours, his soul poured out like a pitcher of milk under a moonless sky. After a time, he said we should head back, it was getting late. I agreed, disappointed that he hadn’t tried harder to fuck me. He’d tempted me with more than his immense sea colored eyes and earnest conversation.
“He tried to leave, to make his car obey his commands, but it was stuck fast. He asked me to take the wheel and he would push, thinking the car was stuck in mud or loose dirt. That was what he said, the last words he spoke.
“He got out and walked to the back of the car, an older model Honda, nothing fancy. I slid over to the driver’s seat. As soon as I saw him in the rearview mirror, putting his muscular arms and back into the effort of moving the car rather than making love to me, I poured my anger into the ignition, turning over the car’s engine with a roar and slamming the gearshift into reverse in one swift motion, stomping hard on the gas pedal. I felt the tires go over his body, a huge jolt that rocked the car, and I heard him scream. I put the car in drive and ran the tires over him again, the wet crunching loud enough to be heard over the engine’s scream. I ran him over again and again. The Chariot was his card, and it was his sacrifice to the dark lord to let loose his blood beneath its wheels. I wept the entire time.
“Once I was sure he was dead, I got out of the car to complete the ritual. His body lay broken and mangled in the car’s headlights, no longer beautiful. His skull was crushed, those wonderful eyes mutilated and oozing from their sockets. Still crying, I dragged him a little ways from the car and arranged him as though he were sleeping. I cast the circle and completed the ritual with my blood, making the raven appear on him, knowing they watched from above. I closed the circle and left him there, taking his car to carry me on my way to the next place, sobbing as I washed the blood and hair from its sides. I vowed to the dark lord that I would never be tempted again, that no man should ever touch me.
“The work of the chosen is hard, Sophia. So hard,” she ended in a voice barely above a whisper and laid her fiery head down upon the table.
Maxwell sat there gaping at me. His teeth were even pointy like a weasel’s. Finally, he spoke. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Not even remotely,” was my respons
e.
****
Maxwell and I left Catherine slumped at the table, joining Shaw at the doorway to her cell. The three of us proceeded in silence to Shaw’s office, where we each grabbed a leather clad chair and sank down gratefully, as drained by the hearing of Catherine’s tale as she apparently was by the telling of it.
I was the first to break the quiet, once again. “I’m assuming you’ll have a psychiatrist perform a complete analysis on her?” I addressed this to Maxwell.
“Absolutely. She’s crazy as a fucking loon. I could give you a copy, if you’d like,” he offered. I was suspicious of his generosity but didn’t comment on that. Perhaps I misjudged him. Besides, I still wasn’t convinced she was crazy, though I had no problem telling her I believed it.
“I’m planning to pitch this story to my boss at the Philly Herald as a piece on female serial killers, and information on the psychology behind it would be very helpful. I will, of course, promise not to use confidential information about Catherine’s case in my piece.”
“See that you don’t, or I’ll say you obtained it illegally and sue your asses off.”
Okay, perhaps I hadn’t misjudged, after all. He was definitely an asshole.
We went over the map of Pennsylvania State for a while. Rather, Shaw and I did, patently ignoring the ferret in the room. Shaw added another bloody circle around the area of Shickshinny. “I’ll call over to Luzerne County and have them get started looking for the body of a young man, college age, fitting Catherine’s description of him, and cover any missing persons reports from about two years ago. I haven’t received any leads yet from Clinton County but hopefully it’s just a matter of time before we can corroborate her stories and start building a case. I’m surprised you haven’t tried to get her out yet for lack of evidence,” Shaw said, looking at Maxwell for the first time in nearly an hour.
Conspiracy of Ravens Page 4