The Next God

by MB Mooney

  And Richard walked away, leaving her alone.

  Chapter 6

  David Farley spent most of his time walking. In the cold months, it was what you had to do, especially if you were homeless. Plus, walking around a lot helped with the money and food he could get from the people he passed. Some of them ignored him. He expected that, although he made sure they felt plenty guilty about it.

  He wasn’t as belligerent as some of his friends. They would stroll right on up to someone and just demand money. “I need some food!” they would say. Most times, people just ran away, or cussed them out. Sometimes people would be scared that they would get mugged or robbed, and they would actually give the belligerent ones a lot of money in order not to be bothered anymore. It was smart to pick your battles, know what you were going to do. Being a jerk got a big payoff every now and then, but being a little nicer brought a steadier money flow.

  David chose the latter. He had a little route that he walked almost every day. He would start out at the missions for some breakfast, if any were left. Sometimes there would be. Most times there wasn’t. Then he would cross over the interstate and make his way down Peachtree Street, pretty much just wandering around. Around lunchtime he would make his way down to the college and walk around for a few hours. Usually some little student would feel sorry for him and give him some money. Ironic how those little liberal jerks could protest for welfare one day and not give him any money the next. But David could get lucky anyway, and he would buy some lunch.

  Sometimes he didn’t eat at all.

  Those days didn’t happen as often, though, and that was good. The hardest times were in the winter, of course. Thanksgiving and Christmas were usually pretty good. He got more food on those two days than he would probably see all year long, unless he were to win the lottery or something. But that never happened, and food usually came before a lottery ticket, anyway.

  In the summer, David liked being homeless, and he couldn’t wait for those times to come again. The warm, city air felt good at night when you slept on a bench or in an alley, or if you were lucky, on the soft grass on a blanket in the park. That was the best. Sometimes someone would come by and beat you up, but that was rare. Yeah, summers were pretty good. The homeless girls were more likely to let you lay with them and maybe even have sex with them. That was nice.

  Around noon, a nice young student, a girl, gave him a few coins so he could get a burger, and he was feeling pretty damn good with a little food in his stomach. David started to walk from the college back across to Peachtree Street in the bright sun of late afternoon when he heard a voice from behind him. “Hey, man, you want this?”

  Turning, David saw a tall man with a cheeseburger in his hand. The man’s eyes were kind.

  “I just bought more food than I could really eat,” the man holding the burger spoke again. “My eyes are bigger than my stomach. Happens all the time.”

  Although he had just eaten, David couldn’t pass up a rare opportunity like this one. He reached out and took the burger. “Sure. Thanks.”

  The tall man smiled at him warmly. “No problem. See you later.”

  Turning to walk home, David opened the burger. Might as well eat it now, he thought. He let the wrapper fall to the ground. He noticed the wind pick it up and take it a few feet behind him. He began to eat, taking big bites. Half of the burger was gone before he knew it. A few seconds later he licked his fingers to get the ketchup and mustard taste off of them.

  He thought what a good day it had been today, and he even felt hopeful about finding a bed at the mission tonight. At first, he hardly noticed the way his body started to tingle. After a few minutes, he thought it strange, but he kept walking. Soon he found it hard to keep moving. He almost tripped twice over his own feet. David stopped walking. He found himself on his knees, dizzy and falling over. He mumbled something, but even he didn’t know what he was trying to say. And when he passed out, he barely felt the cold of the sidewalk underneath him.

  David opened his eyes to a very dimly lit room. His face was cold, but the rest of him felt … well … he couldn’t exactly feel the rest of his body. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he peered curiously at his body. He sat in a chair, a metal chair, with his arms and legs laid out directly in front of him on straight metal platforms connected to the chair. It was a strange chair, not one he had ever seen before. His arms and legs were secured onto the platforms by leather straps. David was dressed only in his underwear, the same pair he wore for the past four months: Fruit of the Loom briefs.

  There were no windows. Was it day or night? He had no idea of the passage of time, recognizing the effect of a strong drug, or several drugs, in his system.

  He could smell his own stink, and his throat was too dry to talk.. All he could produce was a sad choking sound.

  But the little noise he made stirred something at the other end of the room. David looked above him to see the small, yellow light bulb covered with dust and grime. The room was bare except for David and his strange chair, as far as he could see. The shadow came into the light.

  It was the man who had given him the burger.

  “Who?”

  The tall man spoke to him. “Don’t you worry about who I am.”

  David heard a clanking sound, but he couldn’t see what was in the man’s hand. “What are you … what the hell is this thing?”

  The smile from the man frightened David, evil and knowing. “Something I devised just for you. You should feel honored. I went through a lot of trouble for this.”

  David peeked to his left and his right, then back at the man, a chill on the back of his neck. “I ... can’t feel anything.”

  “Yes. I know. You’re paralyzed from the neck down.”

  A choking gasp from David's throat accompanied the dizziness he felt.

  The man nodded. “Not permanently, you see. Did you ever go to high school, David?”

  “How did you know …”

  “Your name? I know a lot about you. Now just answer the question. High school. Are you familiar with the place?”

  David swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Did you ever take biology?”

  “I ... think so. It was a long time ago.”

  The man laughed, easily, calmly. “Yes. For me too. But do you remember dissecting frogs?”

  “I ... don't remember.” He couldn’t move, and it maddened him. A million questions scrolled through his mind at racing speeds, all of them silenced by the horror, all wrapped up into one thought: what is going on?

  “Well, when I was in high school,” the man said, looking down at something David could not see, “we dissected frogs, and I remember some of the students figured out a way to take a live frog, pinch his neck, paralyze him, and dissect him while he was alive. Pretty amazing, huh?”

  David’s mind went blank, cold. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, that’s what you are. You’re the frog. And I’m back in high school again.”

  “Oh, my God.” He could barely hear his own voice, only the whisper that reverberated in his head.

  “No, praying won’t help you. Not in your position.”

  “P- position?”

  “A bad one. A very, very bad one.” The man moved closer, within a few feet, but he kept whatever was in his hands underneath his long coat and out of David's sight. “Don’t concern yourself with what’s in my hand. That’s part of the game.”

  “Game?”

  “Yes. We’re going to play a game. It’s a little game I devised, also in your honor, so I know the right answers and I know the rules.”

  “What are the rules?”

  The man hesitated before answering. He shrugged. “It’s pretty simple, really. You do exactly as I say.”

  There was sweat on David’s brow, one of the few physical sensations he possessed. “What do you want me to do?” he managed to ask.

  “I want you to answer some questions, and I want you to tell the truth. Because if you don’t
, you won’t like it very much. Okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  The man chuckled, grinning at him again and shaking his head. “No, you don’t. Not really. Are you ready for the first question?”

  David nodded as best he could.

  “Are you guilty of any crimes?”

  “What?”

  “Crimes. Have you ever done anything that would be considered a crime?”

  “What type of crimes?” David asked.

  “Any type of crime, any type at all.”

  David hesitated for just a moment before lying. “No.”

  The slight flash of light was all the warning David had before he heard the cleaver come down against metal, and he saw his right hand drop down to the floor. David began to scream. He hadn’t felt a thing, his whole body still numb, but the sight of his own hand being separated from his arm at the wrist was a little too much to handle. Continuing to scream, all his reason left him, saying incoherent things aloud, closing his eyes and praying to any god or force available that he was dreaming.

  But he was not dreaming. The man pulled out a small acetylene torch. The man lit the torch, further illuminating the hacked flesh and spewing blood, and he cauterized the wound. “Wouldn’t want this to get infected,” the man said.

  But David continued to scream, although he didn’t feel a thing. He screamed because he couldn’t feel a thing.

  It took a minute or so before the man was satisfied with the job. “David,” the man said. “David, calm down.” David did stop screaming, but he wept now, feeling the tears flow down his cheeks. He could smell his own burning flesh, the stench of it filling his nostrils. The smell of charred skin and muscle mixed with his own body stench repulsed him.

  “I’m sorry I had to do that.” The man did not sound sorry. “I know it will be harder to take handouts, now, but I had to punish you for a wrong answer. I told you that I knew a lot about you. Now tell me what I want to hear. Have you ever done anything that would be considered a crime?”

  David wept, sobbed. How could this be happening? What had he done to deserve this? Please, God, he cried in his thoughts, please help me. I don’t want to die …

  “Don’t make me put a time limit on you, because if you run out of time, that will be considered a wrong answer, and I don’t really know how much is left in this little torch thing, here, or how long it will last. So just tell me.”

  David’s breath became heavy, the air drawn into him in great heaps. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” The man’s tone belied his frustration.

  “Yes, I have ... committed a crime.” David’s voice was hoarse and strained.

  “Very good. Was that so hard? Sometimes people just have to do things the hard way. Are you ready for the next question?”

  David just sobbed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Have you ever committed murder?”

  “What?” David’s head spun, his eyes rolling a little to the ceiling.

  “Murder. Killing another human being. Taking an innocent life.” The man said the word again underneath his breath, in a whisper. “Murder.”

  “No.”

  David saw the cleaver rise this time, just as quickly as before, and sever his left hand. David screamed again, a more desperate squeal. The man cauterized the wound the same way as before. He stopped screaming after the man was done this time, his eyes staying closed throughout the process, although he could hear the torch burning the flesh at the end of his arm, hear the crackling of the tiny flames. The smell of burning flesh became stronger.

  “You’re running out of limbs. I have to admit that you’re disappointing me. I thought you would be smarter than this, although you were never the smart one in the group. I only want you to tell me the truth. Is that so hard? Answer the question. Tell me the truth.”

  “Yes,” David said.

  “Yes. You did take an innocent life, didn’t you?”

  David opened his eyes now, focusing on the man’s features, the strong jaw and cheekbones. He found it difficult to speak, the memories coming back to him, the beating, the sound of screaming, the silence at the end even more terrible … “I didn’t ... I ...”

  “You what?”

  “I tried to stop him. I tried to stop it.” His brows met high on his forehead.

  “Ah, but you didn’t, did you. Do you remember the boy’s name?”

  “Only ... only his first … name.”

  “And what was that?”

  David hesitated through a sob. “Kevin.”

  “Do you remember how old he was?”

  His words came slow. He found it difficult to stay conscious. “He was young. Fourteen. Fifteen, maybe.”

  “Good guess. He was fifteen. Not very old. What did he do to deserve to die? Tell me that. What was his crime?”

  “No crime. No crime at all …”

  “Wrong answer, but I’ll let that one pass since he was technically innocent. His crime was that his father was getting too close, right? Isn’t that why you couldn’t stop it? You had to kill him. It was orders, wasn't it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Orders from Franklin?”

  David frowned at him. “No. He just wanted us to scare him. Not kill …”

  “From who, then?”

  “From Doss, he ordered it. We all just ...”

  “Carried it out. What a freaking waste. You couldn’t just stand up to him, could you? Tell him you wouldn’t kill a kid, a kid?”

  David’s eyes closed again. “I ... tried ... but he ...”

  “But he what?”

  “He threatened to kill me, too.”

  “Open your eyes, David. I want you to look in my eyes while I tell you this.”

  Opening them, David saw the man lean in close to him. “You’re going to die today. But first I want to hear you say it.”

  “Say what?”

  He could smell the man’s breath, the hotness of it, the oldness of it. “Say you’re sorry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  And he meant it.

  David saw the flash of the knife and watched the blade being buried into his chest. The man worked with the quickness and deftness of a surgeon. David couldn’t scream, but he opened his mouth as if he could.

  He tasted his own heart before he died.

  -----

  Walking quickly down the hall on the first floor, Valerie cursed under her breath. She had work to do today, and she was going to start her period soon. This pissed her off for the requisite five minutes before resigning herself to the inevitable. She was about to be an even bigger bitch than usual. It was now late in the afternoon, and Bill Young could not be found. Strange, she thought, for he always seemed to hang out down here with his old friends, his buddies, making sexist or dirty jokes, mostly both. She did his legwork all day while he probably sat at some seedy bar or strip club in town, which was not hard to find in Atlanta. This pissed her off even more, and she felt no responsibility to let this grudge go.

  A voice came from behind her. “Detective Mann!” said a man’s voice, very urgent, and she turned to see a man chasing her down the poorly lit, government-funded hall.

  He was a handsome man, tall, dark, in great shape, a little too perfect for her tastes, though, with his dark suit and immovable hair. “You found me,” she said, not sure why anyone would want to find her.

  The man caught up to her and extended his hand. “Detective Mann. I am Agent Lawrence, FBI.”

  She shook his hand but raised her eyebrows. “FBI?” Her hands rested on her hips after releasing the grip. “Why would you be talking to me, Agent Lawrence?”

  “I just had some questions concerning the Person and Gorman cases.”

  “All right.”

  Agent Lawrence looked around. “Is your partner around anywhere?”

  “No. I’m looking for him, actually.”

  Agent Lawrence seemed rather curious, still checking the area, not wanting to look her squarely in the eye. “I h
ave some questions that concern him,” he said, almost a dismissal.

  “Maybe I can answer them,” she offered.

  “Well, you see,” he began. “We have some information that this is a serial murder.”

  “Really? You’re kidding.”

  He nodded. Did he catch her sarcasm or was he only ignoring it? “And it might have something to do with a former case of Sergeant Young’s. Did he tell you anything about it?”

  She shook her head, feeling flustered. Was she as red as she imagined? “No, but I’ll talk to him.”

  He finally focused on her, extending his hand again, the smooth operator coming out of him again. “Wonderful. Hopefully we can work well together on this.”

  On what? “Oh, I’m sure.”

  Chapter 7

  Shade drove northwest out of West End, Washington on Highway 16. He had tracked his target south from Seattle. Now successful, he gunned the car – a BMW bought with cash yesterday – across the bridge and out to meet Mr. Smith. The GPS led Shade up the highway for another six miles. He took an exit on the way to Bethel, but a side road wound out to a vast field of high grass. An old farmhouse was nestled on the far side of the field.

  The weather was cold and wet with a lazy drizzle, and the moon bright in the clear sky. The dirt road that made its way through the field was barely used, and Shade worried that the BMW would get stuck in the muddy ruts, but it didn’t. The farmhouse was dark as Shade stopped the car in front. The sky loomed black and large beyond the house. He left the car running while he got out of the car and walked back to the trunk.

  Shade pulled his heavy coat tighter around him. Mr. Smith appeared from the front door of the farmhouse and stood on the porch, still wearing a nice suit. The cold wind rustled the grasses behind Shade.

  “Bring her inside, Mr. Shade,” Mr. Smith said. He turned and went inside the house, leaving the door open.

  Shade grunted and opened the trunk.

  The woman inside was bound and gagged, her eyes wide and fearful. She was just over sixty years old with graying dark hair. Shade reached in and grabbed the woman, lifting and throwing her over his shoulder. She did not fight him. He had taught her earlier the foolishness of that when he abducted her from her home.