Empty Is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Empty

  is the

  Grave

  Candle Sutton

  Text copyright © 2019 Candle Sutton

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, incidents, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. While Alcatraz Island is a real location and many of the locations referenced in this novel are also real, the depiction of it presented here, as well as many of the other locations described within, is completely fictitious. Any resemblance to events, places, or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other – without written permission from the author.

  Cover art courtesy of Stephanie Schneider, graphic designer.

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  Cast of Characters

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Dedication & Acknowledgements

  A note from the author

  Excerpt from Nameless

  Also available from Candle Sutton

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  Cast of Characters

  The Good Guys:

  Josiah

  Sergeant Daryl Rushworth (Rush)

  Rafael Garcia (Rafe)

  Officer Cortez

  Detective Zander Salinas

  Detective Morgan

  Teenage Graffiti Artists/Taggers:

  Chloe

  Switch

  Pem

  Joe

  Russian Gang:

  Viktor Gorbesky

  Oksana Gorbesky

  Sergei

  Nikolas

  American Gang:

  Landon Timber

  Hugh Jeffers

  Bruce Lewis

  Prologue

  The night belonged to the dead.

  Or so the legend went. On a night like this, Sergei could believe it.

  Clouds shrouded the moon. A low moan echoed through the cracks in the building in front of him.

  Shivers danced down his neck.

  Might’ve been from the cold.

  Might’ve been something else entirely.

  He stopped abruptly, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He shouldn’t be here. No living thing should be.

  Whispers surrounded him.

  His brain told him it was nothing more than the wind moving through the trees, but his heart said it was the voices of the souls who had never left this forsaken island.

  Seriously. What was he doing out here anyway?

  But he knew, didn’t he? He was out here because she had ordered it.

  And no one, absolutely no one, told her no.

  Curses filled his head, but he didn’t dare vocalize them.

  No sense calling attention. From the living or the dead. Although, in spite of what he’d been told, he was beginning to doubt any of the former existed here.

  No, he was the only one stupid enough to be out here at this time of night.

  Not that he’d really been given much choice.

  Disobedience carried consequences.

  No further sounds reached his ears. The sooner he finished his assignment, the sooner he could get the heck out of here.

  He pushed through the brush, cringing with each crack of a twig snapping, each rustle of a leaf.

  Where could it be?

  Well, if he’d been the one in charge, he’d choose a place away from the prison, so maybe he was on the wrong part of the island.

  But it also had to be a dry place. Someplace protected from both the elements and prying eyes.

  Could there be a cave on the island? Or maybe some kind of root cellar?

  Or catacombs. Hadn’t he heard something about old military tunnels that ran beneath the surface of the island?

  He was grasping, yet it was all he could do. For all he knew, it was hidden in some secret passage inside the prison itself.

  He looked over his shoulder at the hulking stone monster.

  Rumor had it that secret passages existed behind those walls.

  Then again, there were a lot of rumors about Alcatraz Island.

  How many were true and how many were wild exaggerations, he didn’t know for certain. All he knew was that this place was creepy as heck.

  He rolled his shoulders, as if that would make his skin stop crawling, and pushed deeper into the brush.

  The beam of the powerful flashlight in his hands did little to penetrate the darkness around him.

  Maybe he oughta come back during the day. He could book one of those tourist boats and slip away from the group to explore on his own.

  Yeah, that was a good idea. He’d be able to see more in the daylight anyway.

  He turned, retracing his steps through the foliage.

  A branch cracked to his left.

  He froze.

  Someone – or something – was there!

  He whipped toward the sound, fumbling with the holster at his waist. The flashlight slipped from his fingers. The light rolled across the ground, the beam moving too fast to illuminate anything.

  Trembling fingers encircled the cold steel of his Ruger as a black shadow rose nearby.

  Swinging the gun up, he fired.

  The shot severed the night, but evidently missed the target.

  Or maybe went through the target.

  Sweat crawled down his back as he sighted on the shadow.

  Something crashed into him. He flew through the darkness, slamming into a tree a few feet away.

  Stars dotted his vision.

  He shook his head slowly, trying to clear the fog.

  The shadow had an abnormally shaped head. Large, bulbous.

  Not human.

  The stories… true?

  It hovered in front of him as the shadowy figure beneath it moved closer.

  Fight! Run!

  His limbs, suddenly heavier than the rocks littering the island, refused to obey.

  Pain exploded across his head.

  Blackness invaded.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Landon Timber pulled off his night vision goggles and shined his flashlight on the unconscious man in front of him. Blood trickled from his nose and flowed freely from where Hugh had hit him on the head.

  He glanced at Hugh, who had also removed his night vision goggles, transforming him from alien to human. “Do you think he was here for us?”

  Narrowed eyes lifted from the still body to him. “Doesn’t matter if he was. He won’t tell anyone about it.”

  A chill crawled down Landon’s back. He’d known it could come
to this, of course. But to actually be staring at a man, knowing the man would not return to his home, was a different matter.

  He swallowed, the lump in his throat as rough as the rocks lining the coast of the island. “What will you do?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Dump him in the ocean. The sharks should take care of the body.”

  Body.

  The movement of the man’s chest evidenced that he wasn’t yet dead.

  A metallic taste filled Landon’s mouth.

  Perhaps he wasn’t cut out for this. Yet there was no quitting. Once you were in, you were in for life.

  And he was most definitely in.

  “Turn off the light and help me with him.”

  Landon clicked off the light and stuffed it back in his pocket before donning the night vision goggles once again. A green landscape crossed into view. The heavy cloud cover made tonight a perfect night for the goggles.

  He grabbed the man’s legs as Hugh lifted the man’s upper torso.

  They lumbered down the path toward the pier.

  By the time they reached the wooden planks that would welcome boatloads of tourists in the morning, Landon’s muscles ached and his breath came in quick, angry bursts.

  Hugh grunted. “Keep moving.”

  Landon forced his legs forward.

  What would they do if the man awoke?

  Knowing Hugh, he’d kill the man with his bare hands. There was a reason Bruce Lewis had appointed him head of security.

  It took less than a minute to reach the end of the pier. Dropping the man on the weathered boards, Hugh lashed his hands and feet together with the zip ties he always seemed to have on hand.

  Hugh nodded at the body.

  It was time. Landon grasped the man’s ankles as Hugh seized his hands, then they swung the man into the sea.

  The body splashed into the ocean, bobbing a little before settling along the water’s choppy surface.

  He’d expected the shock of cold water to wake the man, but the guy didn’t move.

  The tide, strong at this hour, pulled the body out to sea.

  “Such is the fate of all who threaten our empire.” Hugh’s words, stolen quickly by the wind, echoed inside Landon’s brain.

  This threat might be gone, but would more follow?

  He now had blood on his hands. How much more would be added in the days to come?

  One

  The ominous black cloud stirred his soul.

  While most people saw only an impending storm, Josiah saw the demonic hordes below it, hovering over Alcatraz Island.

  Such a cluster could only mean one thing. Danger was brewing.

  Sovereign God? The prayer hung in his spirit as an unasked question.

  Wait and pray.

  Yes, Holy Father.

  Wait and pray. He could certainly do both of those things. He had a feeling the Father would send him into the fray before long.

  While he didn’t relish the chaos of such missions, neither did he fear them.

  His life was firmly in the Almighty’s grasp. What could the forces of darkness do to him?

  Sure, they could take his life, but that would just send him to his loving Father.

  Which, some days, felt preferable to his newfound loneliness.

  “Josiah?”

  He turned from the window at the sound of Rush’s voice.

  “Or should I say, Chaplain?” Daryl Rushworth, “Rush” to all who knew him, crossed his chocolate arms over his broad chest and smiled.

  Josiah returned the smile. “I will always be Josiah to you.”

  But chaplain had a nice sound to it, too. It was his first official day as a part-time chaplain, a position he had worked hard to secure. Now, maybe, he’d finally have the access he needed to reach more inmates.

  And it was all because Hope Behind Bars had chosen to sponsor him as a religious worker. Training their missionaries and sending them to the field was rewarding, but Josiah’s passion was working with the prisoners themselves, something he now had the ability to do more freely.

  It never ceased to amaze him how God put the pieces together like an elaborate puzzle.

  Rush’s smile dimmed. “Thought you’d want to know that they took Garcia to the infirmary. Another altercation.”

  Apparently, Alcatraz wasn’t the only place with dark events occurring.

  The last year had been a rough one for Rafe Garcia, and it appeared he wasn’t getting any relief yet. “May I see him?”

  Rush gave a tight nod. “Why I’m here. I figured you’d want to, and now that you’ve got the clearance…”

  “Thank you, my brother.” Josiah fell into step beside Rush as they headed down the hallway. Poor Rafe. His heart ached for the trouble Rafe had endured. He glanced over at Rush. “Do you know what happened?”

  Rush shook his head. “Same as the last two times. An Alma with something to prove.”

  The Alma Negras, once a thriving gang, struggled outside the prison walls. Too bad the gang seemed to pulse with violent life inside.

  How the Almas had discovered that Rafe was involved in the investigation that took down their leader, Celestine Montoya, was still a mystery. But once word had gotten out three weeks ago, Rafe had walked around with a target on his back.

  He slid a sideways glance at Rush. “How is he?”

  Rush opened a security door and gestured for Josiah to enter. “Took a few good knocks to the head, but not as bad as it coulda been.”

  He didn’t ask if there was any more that could be done to keep Rafe safe.

  Rush was a good man and an excellent supervisor. If there was something more he could do, Josiah knew it would already be done.

  As they stepped into the infirmary, Rafe looked up. A weak grin caused his split lip to bleed harder.

  Josiah put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and squeezed, but said nothing as the nurse continued to clean Rafe’s wounds.

  A split lip, swollen eye, and bloody nose evidenced that his attacker had gotten a few good hits in before the guards had broken up the fight.

  “I’m going to try liquid stitches to close this, but you might need the real thing.” The nurse, a tiny man with a soft voice, reached for a vial.

  Once the nurse finished dressing Rafe’s wounds, he gave him some ibuprofen for the pain before moving away.

  Rafe swallowed the pills, a grimace contorting his distorted features. “And I was just healin’ from last time.”

  “I’m sorry, my brother.”

  “I don’t get it. What they think they’re tryin’ to prove.” A lisp, which Rafe didn’t normally have, tainted the words.

  The Holy Spirit gave Josiah a familiar nudge. He focused on Rafe’s battered face as he quoted Ephesians 6:12. “Scripture says that our battle is not against flesh and blood but against spiritual forces. The enemy isn’t pleased that he lost you to Jesus.”

  “But that ain’t got nothin’ to do with nothin’. ‘Sides, they ain’t got no idea ‘bout that.” Even as he protested, Rafe didn’t sound convinced.

  “Who do you think plants the ideas in their minds? Don’t you find it interesting that this all started a month after you surrendered to Jesus? The enemy is going to try everything in his power to get you to doubt your decision or abandon your faith.” He prayed that the attacks would only further to strengthen Rafe spiritually, rather than drive him away.

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Then he’s dumber than I thought. No way I’m goin’ back to what I was.”

  “Draw on the Savior’s strength. He will see you through.” Or guide him home, but that was a thought best kept inside. He’d found that the people of this world rarely liked to consider their own death.

  “How’s Zander?”

  The abrupt change of topic didn’t surprise Josiah. Especially since it was about Zander. Any time Rafe wanted to move to a safe topic, he always seemed to land on Zander. “You could ask him yourself, you know. He’d visit if he thought you would welcome him.”

/>   How Rafe had kept Zander at arm’s length since beginning his sentence ten months ago, Josiah had no clue. The man obviously cared deeply for Zander, yet stubbornly refused Zander’s every attempt at reconciliation.

  “Man, he’s better off stayin’ far away from my mess.”

  Josiah blinked. That was the first time Rafe had vocalized anything resembling a reason for the distance he’d forced. “How could you think that?”

  “Zander’s finally got his life together.” Rafe swallowed hard. “He ain’t drinking, he married a chick who isn’t gonna cheat on him… he doesn’t need a screw-up like me hangin’ around.”

  Josiah shook his head.

  Ah, the lies of the enemy were strong. Good thing the truth of God was stronger.

  If Rafe only knew how precious he was, not only to the Father, but to those who really knew him, it would revolutionize his view of himself.

  “Hey, Jesus took your screw-ups, remember? All of them. You’re a child of the King now!” Josiah grinned. “Don’t you think Zander would want to celebrate that victory with you?”

  Rafe blinked rapidly. “Yeah, I know. But… it’s hard to come back, you know?”

  “No rift is too big for God to heal. Let me talk to Zander. That’s the first step.”

  The hesitation dragged for several moments before Rafe gave a single nod.

  Josiah grinned. Praise God. The damaged relationship had been eating at Zander. Maybe now healing could begin.

  “I wish I coulda been there for the wedding.”

  “We all wish you could’ve been there.” Memories of Zander and Elly’s wedding, two weeks before Christmas, slipped through his mind. Josiah had brought pictures in for Rafe to see, but it wasn’t the same as being there.

  It seemed impossible that nine months had passed since then.

  Rafe cleared his throat, as if doing so would clear his memory of everything he’d missed. “Think Zander will really come?”

  “I know he will.” Josiah placed a hand on Rafe’s bony shoulder. “Probably the day I talk to him.”

  Rafe blinked against the moisture Josiah suddenly saw in his eyes. “There anythin’ new I oughta know about before he comes?”