by Robin Caroll
One of the waitresses rushed to the group. “Betti, it’s two after seven and this is supposed to start at seven. Can we open the doors?”
Betti looked at Addy. They needed to go forth as if nothing was wrong. She gave a little nod. “Open the doors and run the event. I’m going to see if I can get in touch with Dimitri and get an update so we can tell the guests.” And find out what hospital they were at and send Dimitri’s car over there so he wouldn’t be stuck.
“Yes, ma’am. All the pieces are priced and the descriptions are correct. Yvette said the trays of food are ready to be loaded. I can handle the guests and inform them of the artist’s accident. Who knows, it might help some of the pieces get sold. Some people are weird like that.” Betti went to the front door of the restaurant and began greeting guests.
Addy retreated to Dimitri’s office in the kitchen, grabbing her cell phone from her pocket. Her cell was at twenty-one percent, so she would have to charge it soon. But right now, she needed to call Dimitri.
It went straight to voice mail.
Dimitri never turned his phone off. Ever. Maybe he was dialing out. She’d call back in a minute. To save power on her phone, she brought up Dimitri’s computer and ran a search for the area hospitals. Using the landline from the phone on the desk, she called the first one—University Medical. No record of a Solomon Youngblood in the ER or having been admitted.
She tried Dimitri again. Straight to voice mail.
Addy dialed the number for the next local hospital, New Orleans East. Again, no record of Solomon. She tried the next hospital—Tulane Medical. They, too, had no record of Solomon.
That little nagging suddenly became louder and stronger as she tried Dimitri’s cell again. It went straight to voice mail.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
She called Beau. It rang only once. “Addy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, I don’t know.” She quickly told him what had happened. “But no hospital has any record of an accident involving Solomon Youngblood. I’m worried about Zoey and Dimitri and little Sam. Beau, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but we just got to the address where Solomon and his family live, which is also the address Hixson gave us as being the source of your music. I’m going to get some answers. I’ll update you when I can. Stay with your dad.” He clicked off before she could explain about her father being in his suite.
Still, it didn’t seem like there was a threat here, but she was more than worried about everyone else, especially little Sam. Everything in her screamed that things were bad.
She bent her head and sent up a silent prayer for their protection.
Her cell phone rang.
She jumped, startled, but yanked it up. It wasn’t Dimitri as she’d hoped, but it was the hotel. “Hello.”
“Ms. Fountaine, this is Hixson. I found something else you might want to come see.”
She stood. “I’m on my way.” What now?
— Beau
“I’m Detective Savoie with the New Orleans Police Department and this is Detective Taton. We only need to speak to whomever is in charge. It won’t take but a moment.” Beau held his shield out where the young man could see it.
“Hang on.” The door shut in their face.
Beau looked at Marcel. “Did he really just go there?”
Marcel shook his head. “I still can’t believe we were denied a warrant. Religious freedom? Seriously?” He jammed his cell phone in his back pocket. “No cell reception here either.”
“Someone pretty high up must be a member of the cult.” They’d gotten warrants on much, much less. Not today though. No, it was probably one of the kids of an official who belonged to the cult—that was the latest fad, right? To belong to some off-the-wall group. Even law enforcement would protect their kids over enforcing justice. Didn’t matter, Beau supposed, since they’d still do their job. Beau checked his cell display—no bars either. He shook his head as he took a step back and looked around the house.
The house was one of the older ones in the warehouse district of the city. Many of the homes in the area were run-down. Some had even been condemned. This particular one wasn’t in as bad of shape, but it wouldn’t be gracing any Southern Living issues anytime soon. The steps were sturdy up to the front door, but the need for a fresh coat of paint and a good pressure washing was definitely evident.
The door opened again and an older man had replaced the younger one in the doorway. “Detectives, my apologies.” He stepped onto the narrow porch with them. He stood hunched, his advanced years obvious in the curve of his stance and the wrinkles on his face. “I’m Levi Youngblood, how may I help you?”
“Are you the one in charge here? The leader of Cretum Deus?”
A flash moved in his eyes for a moment before the guard fell carefully back into place. “No, that would be my younger brother, David. At the moment, he’s unavailable. What may I help you with?”
“We’re looking for information on the founders of Cretum Deus. Who could help us with that?” Marcel had clearly had enough of playing nicely.
Beau understood. Standing out on a porch, getting what was clearly a runaround, didn’t bode well for the cult. Especially not in light of learning someone here was the source of the Axman’s Jazz at the Darkwater Inn. Warrant or no, he was going to get some answers.
Levi narrowed his eyes, deepening the crow’s feet in the corners. “What type of information do you require?”
Why not just get it out there? “We’re looking for information regarding Harold, William, James, and George.” At least to begin with. They’d get to the jazz and Addy and the hotel once they had someone who could tell them something.
Levi hesitated. “Just a moment. Let me see who I can find for you to speak with.” He retreated into the house so quickly that Beau couldn’t even catch a glimpse inside.
“I can’t believe we couldn’t get a warrant,” Marcel mumbled.
Beau wondered if he should have asked about Solomon as his lead-in to get more of a response, but something told him to hold off on that. Call it cop’s hunch or gut instinct, he didn’t know, but he’d kept silent about how he knew about the accident as well as the jazz tune in the hotel’s elevators and the music box sent to Addy.
“These people are weird with a capital W, buddy.” Marcel paced the small confines of the porch. “That Levi guy looks like an undertaker in a graphic novel.”
“Comic book, you mean?” Beau smiled at his partner, who had a love of gore-filled graphic novels, resenting people who referred to them as big comic books.
The door opened and Levi stood there again. “My father has deigned to speak with you. I hope you understand what an honor it is for my father to take such time.” He led them just inside the door, then to a small room to the immediate right.
The little room had a draft, but also was lit only by candles. Their flickering on the old wallpaper depicting a French countryside scene went beyond eerie. Two ratty-looking high back chairs sat facing a couch that had seen its better days decades ago. The room smelled stuffy like mothballs.
“Father will be with you momentarily.” Levi left the little room, shutting the door behind him.
“Uh, I’m not sitting on that rat-infested thing.” Marcel nodded toward the couch, wiping off the seat of one of the chairs before he sat.
Beau took the other seat. At least they were facing the two floor-to-ceiling windows. Gauzy-looking curtains with holes in them hung from old rods. The overall feel of the room was cold. Impersonal. Definitely lacking a welcoming touch. Even the old Oriental rug looked as if it deserved a proper burial.
The door opened with a creepy creak and Levi led an old—really old—man inside. The old man’s face, lit by the candles, looked like very worn leather. His eyes had a bugged-out quality to them as Levi assisted him to the couch. Once he sat, he nodded at Levi, who promptly left, closing the door.
“Gentlemen…detectives.” The old man’s voice crack
ed, but was much stronger than Beau expected from the whip of a man in front of him.
“Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Youngblood. We hate to intrude, especially in the evening.” Beau watched the old man’s eyes flash with a wildness he hadn’t anticipated.
“Not a problem. Happy to help the police in any way. What is this regarding, if I might ask?” The old man leaned against the back of the couch, releasing a pouf of particles to dance in the air visible with the flickers of the flames.
Beau glanced at Marcel, who shrugged and addressed the old man. “I don’t know if you’ve heard the news about some attacks that have been happening in our city lately.”
“Ah, yes. Reminds me of the tales of the Axeman attacks.” He ran a hand over the top baldness of his head.
“Yes.” Beau pulled out his notebook and pen. “We’re following up on the possibility that it might be someone mimicking those attacks from 1918 and 1919.”
Mr. Youngblood smoothed the frazzled bits of hair on either side of his head, just over his ears. “I remember hearing about them. Horrible. Had to be some sort of evil doing such things to people.”
“We were hoping that perhaps you might have some information regarding the four founders of Cretum Deus: Harold, William, George, and James.”
The man’s eyes narrowed and his voice thundered in the silence of the room. “Harold was never part of Cretum Deus.”
“Are you sure?” Marcel asked. “Some of our research shows that he likely was.”
“I’m positive Harold was never part of our group.”
Beau looked up from his notes. “How can you be so positive?”
“Because, young man, I am the founder of Cretum Deus.”
“Wait.” Beau gripped the pen so tight it was a wonder it didn’t break. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at full attention. “You’re William Lowe?” This man was Harriet’s son? The lost William? The man whose mother was murdered by the Axeman?
The old man shrugged. “I haven’t gone by that name since I was a teenager. I’m Will Youngblood, and under God’s guidance, I formed Cretum Deus and invited my friends, James Inard and George Rouzier to join me, which they did.” He straightened. “So, what specific questions may I answer for you that could help you with your investigation? I apologize for being blunt, but I have plans later this evening.”
21
— Dimitri
“Both of your cell phones—in the basket.” The man holding the gun on them in the back seat of the car wore a no-nonsense glare.
“Don’t try anything funny, or your son will pay.” Moses looked at Zoey in the rearview mirror.
She tossed her cell phone into the basket. Dimitri did the same. The man waved the gun toward Dimitri. “Shut the door.”
Dimitri reached for the door handle, quickly assessing where they were parked. He glanced up to the camera mounted over the side door of the Darkwater Inn. He took a split second to look straight up at the camera and mouth the words HELP CULT before he shut the car door.
Moses gunned the engine and the sped out of the alley.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Dimitri figured if he could get the man talking, maybe he could figure some way out of this mess. He knew he should’ve listened to his gut instinct. Too bad he hadn’t.
“Not that you’re owed any explanation, but I’m Jacob Youngblood.”
“You’re Solomon’s brother?” Zoey kept trying to position herself so she could see her son in the front seat. “Is he okay?”
“Stupid woman. Solomon wasn’t in a wreck. He’s currently at our home, going through a program to rid himself of all the evil and wanton things you did to him to turn him against God and his family.” The anger in the man’s voice rattled his words.
“I didn’t do any such thing.” Zoey spoke through clenched teeth.
“Yes, you did. Harlot.” Jacob kept the gun trained on Dimitri, even though he spoke at Zoey.
Dimitri discreetly took Zoey’s hand and squeezed. “So, where are you taking us?”
Jacob cut his eyes off of Zoey. “Home, of course. We have big things planned for tonight. To rid the world of this demon again.”
They were crazier than Dimitri had thought, but at least he was talking and had lowered the gun. “The demon? What demon?”
Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Don’t try to distract me. You’re the one who released the demon our father had contained years ago. You and that woman you let run your hotel.”
This wasn’t making any sense. “I didn’t release anything, much less a demon. I’m a God-fearing man.”
Jacob snorted. “God-fearing? You don’t even know what that means. You let women rule over you like that Fountaine woman. You hang out with harlots like this one.” He waved the gun at Zoey, then back at Dimitri. “You turned on your own family…your father. Flesh and blood. You can’t be cleansed. You must be held accountable for your sins, and you will.”
Dimitri knew Scripture. “I am responsible for my own actions, my choices, and my decisions, but I’m also forgiven by the blood of Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t you try to mess with my mind. My father is in constant communication with God, and while he’s allowed his sons to oversee our group, he has been instructed by God himself to come out and rid the world of the demon once again. Tonight.”
There was no reasoning with them…they were that crazy. But maybe if he kept Jacob talking, it would build a rapport that would eventually allow Zoey and Sam an opportunity to get away. “I’ll accept whatever the Lord has in store for me, but I’m confused about the demon. You said I released it. How?”
Jacob sighed. “As if you don’t know.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry. Please explain.”
The man hesitated for only a moment. “My grandmother was murdered by the Axeman in 1918. She was an original sinner.” He turned to Zoey. “Much like you. A trollop who entices married men to sleep with her. Who bears children from another woman’s husband.”
Zoey shifted, but Dimitri squeezed her hand very tightly.
Jacob smiled as he looked back at Dimitri. “She was in such a compromising position when a demon-possessed man, called the Axeman by men but he confessed to being a slave to Satan in hell, attacked her. She died, as she should have for her wanton ways, but it left my father an orphan.”
Dimitri swallowed against a dry mouth, not daring to speak and interrupt Jacob.
“He grew up in the care of nuns at orphanages. Did you know that they called them asylums back then? Now the definition is an institution offering shelter to people who are mentally ill. It just goes to show the mind games played with the poor children with no parents. But those nuns, they were good to inform my father of how much of a sinner his mother was and how God sent a demon-filled man to get rid of her.”
Dimitri held tight to Zoey’s hand. These people were past crazy and right into insane. Talk about someone needing an asylum…
“Even as a teen, father began hearing from God. He got instructions. God told him when to leave and who to invite to leave with him. God led him to create our group, Cretum Deus, in order to fulfill God’s work here. On earth. In this city. In our community. God provided everything as my father obeyed.”
The car turned, sending Zoey almost into Dimitri’s lap. A knock sounded in the front seat, then Sam began to whine. Zoey leaned forward.
Jacob held the gun up, pointed right at her.
“I’m just going to hold my son.” She ignored Jacob and his gun and reached over the seat to unsnap Sam from the seat and pull him into her lap, sitting back beside Dimitri with a thud. She held him tight and rocked him, humming.
“His father was another woman’s husband.” Jacob glared at Zoey.
“How do you know?” She kept her tone light as she rocked Sam, but lasers shot from her eyes. Sam snuggled against his mother and his eyes closed again.
“Weren’t you listening? I told you, my father hears from God.”
Zoey rolled her
eyes and kissed the top of her son’s head.
Jacob’s stare hardened. “You doubt my father?”
“Doubt your father? I don’t even know him. Or you. I don’t care what you believe. I think you’re crazy—and your father, too. Solomon told me all about your family. You’re a cult.”
Moses spoke from the front seat. “You need to shut up. We are not a cult. People call us that who don’t understand our high calling from God. Miserable sinners can’t grasp a family and group who follow the leading of God as He instructs. You aren’t even worthy to speak about my father, my family.”
The car lurched forward as Moses continued in a shaking voice. “That you touched my brother literally makes me sick. You, who gave yourself to man after man after man…putting yourself on my brother. Using temptation to try and estrange Solomon from the calling upon his life as the youngest son of Will Youngblood, as he is the last direct descendant of the founder of Cretum Deus. You even had poor Solomon send that woman at the hotel a warning. One of our very old music boxes. Our father was very unpleased with his actions. You are an evil woman, and I’m glad the world will be rid of you soon.”
Dimitri needed to act fast, or this was about to go sideways. “So your father left and started Cretum Deus. How does that connect to the demon?”
“The Axeman was killed, struck down by illness sent straight from God, but my father discovered he’d had a son, and we all know that bloodlines are strong—much is passed through a blood connection.”
Dimitri still didn’t see the connection of the son of the Axeman to him. “How did I let the demon out?”
Jacob jutted out his chin. “You opened the walls where the demon had been contained.”
Walls? Mere walls could contain a demon from hell? These people didn’t even have logic on their side.
“Our father had killed the son of the man with the demon. Our father is pure of heart, as were the two disciples with him, so the demon was trapped. They put the body that held the demon against a wall, and bricked over him. The demon had nowhere to go, and no way to get out without a human he could possess. He was trapped.” Jacob sighed. “Until you knocked down the wall and released the demon.”