The Second Coming (11 page)

The killer waited in the darkness inside of the front doorway. He knew she would eventually come to him. Women in a panic were so stupid and predictable. He watched as she made her way towards him. She was going to be an easy kill.

As she crossed into the bar area, she looked around the empty room. There was only open space between her and the door. She could do this! It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and bolted for the front door. She was going to make it! Nothing could stop her now. She was only a few feet away from the door when she looked up and there he was. Her heart stopped. Where the fuck did he come from? It was too late. Her momentum carried her crashing into his solid, unyielding body. She screamed with blood curdling horror and as she tried to fight him off, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her, crushing her upper body as he lifted her off the ground with supernatural strength. It felt like her ribs were crushing her lungs and as she gasped for air, her eyes bulged like they were going to pop. This was it. He was going to crush her to death.

The killer grabbed Vicky in a bear hug and began to squeeze the life out of her. She was so small and frail he thought he was going to crush her so he momentarily let loose of her. He didn’t want her to die. That would ruin his plans, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out the rag that was soaked with chloroform and smothered her face with it. She struggled to get free, but he held her tight until she went limp in his arms. Now it was time to have some fun with her.

chapter
20

F
ATHER
J
OHN RECOGNIZED
the stained glass windows and the concrete arches of the musty chapel from his youth. He went to a funeral and a wedding there, but something was different about it tonight. It was empty, but he was not alone. As he cautiously proceeded down the aisle of pews towards the altar, he could feel the presence of evil around him like an invisible jury.

What was he doing there? There was a blank spot in his memory. He knew and understood everything about himself except how he got there. Was it a dream or was it taking place in his sub-conscious?

At the end of the aisle, in front of an antique pipe organ, was a large marble altar with something lying crumpled on top of it. As he got closer, he saw the thin alabaster arm and the long painted fingernails of a female hand hanging from it. His heart sank with despair. It was happening again. He was having another nightmare.

As he approached, only a few feet from the altar, he could see the naked body of a young woman sprawled out on top of a red sacrament with a gold fringe border. His heart pounded with fear and exhilaration. She was beautiful and helpless. How he longed for her. Never before had he felt such unadulterated lust. What was happening to him? It was as if he was of two different minds. Two separate entities trapped in one.

Her vulnerability gave him a feeling of power as he ran his hand down her soft, iridescent body. What was he doing? He wanted to stop and help her, but he couldn’t.

He climbed on top of the altar and knelt between her spread legs, admiring her like a lion admires it’s kill before he devours it. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her to be fully conscious so that he could torment her.
He wanted her to know that he was her master and she was his slave. It was against everything good and righteous in his soul, but it could not be stopped. There was only one way to satisfy his hunger. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes while he controlled her.

He leaned his body over her and gently caressed her angelic face as she writhed like a headless snake.
Yes, that’s it.
He watched with fascination and sorrow as she blinked her swollen eyes open and began to cry from under the white gag stuffed in her mouth. This poor girl didn’t have any idea where she was or why she was there. And then with great despair, Father John began to violently beat and rape her. He struggled with all of his might and will to stop himself, but it was useless. The feeling of power and ecstasy was too overwhelming.

When he was done, he collapsed on top of her, regretful, yet satisfied. His heart was pounding and he was short of breath. How could he allow himself to commit such a heinous act? It was as if she cast a spell on him. And with that, he was overwhelmed with a sudden surge of resentment. She was the cause of this! She made him do this to her. He knew it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t stop thinking it and the more he thought it, the more resentful he became.

There was a burning anger in Father John’s heart as he sat kneeling over Vicky’s battered body. Reaching into his robe, he felt the cold metal handle of the knife and pulled it out, holding the gleaming blade admiringly in front of his face. Vicky’s eyes bulged as she frantically began to shake her head back and forth with muffled screams of terror. It was her fault and he was going to make her pay. He watched with great remorse as he held the knife above his head and then slammed it through her ribs with a bone crunching thud. Vicky’s body jerked like she had been hit with lightning and her eyes bulged as she struggled for a last breath, drowning on her own blood. Father John couldn’t believe what he was seeing and watched defeated yet fulfilled as her head dropped to the side and blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

He crawled down from the altar resigned, yet unfulfilled like an addict who doesn’t get enough. With raging disappointment, he sliced her abdomen with a scapel from below her navel up to her xiphoid process. What in the name of God was he doing? Wasn’t it enough that he raped and stabbed her? He reached his latex covered hands into the warm darkness between the
slit in her belly and pulled her intestines out like squid from a bucket. He watched as he wiped his blood soaked hand on the wall in swooping strokes, painting the number six symbol with the upside down piece sign in the loop. What did it mean? Why was he leaving it on the wall?

Father John awoke standing naked in front of his mirror with a bloody nose. He didn’t have any recollection of how he got there or what he was doing. His body was tired and his spirit drained as he turned the handle of the sink on and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at his gaunt, pasty face in the mirror. What in the world was happening to him? He dried his face with a towel and then stumbled over to his bed, curling up under the covers in the fetal position. Light reflected off the whitewash walls of his room. He overslept again and missed the morning prayers, but he was too ashamed to get out of bed and face his peers. Did he really kill these two women?

chapter
21

M
IKE PULLED HIS
Mustang up in front of the chapel with an abrupt screech of the tires and hopped out of the car, slamming his door. A few squad cars, a couple of news vans and the crime lab SUV were parked along the street. A crowd was beginning to assemble outside the cordoned area. As Mike hurried around to the back of his car and popped the trunk open, Big Pete approached from the side.

“It’s official,” he said. “We got ourselves a serial killer.”

Mike suspected that it was a serial killer after the first murder and yet he was still unprepared when he received the news. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was hoping he was wrong and that the first murder would be the only one. The more time that went by, the more he began to think maybe there wouldn’t be another victim, but deep down he knew that the killer would strike again. Granted, this was sooner than he anticipated. He thought the killer would allow more time for interest in the case to grow cold, but now the killer was making a statement that he could and would kill at any time of his choosing.

The thought of it made Mike jaw-clenching mad as he scrubbed his hands and wrists with hand sanitizer and then snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Not only was the killer organized and smart, but he was also arrogant. He was committing these crimes right under his nose, in his town and that made Mike want to lash out in vengeance. Mike also knew that arrogance could lead to carelessness and he hoped that the killer had made a mistake and left some type of evidence.

The guilt and shame from not being able to find any evidence at the first crime scene was already causing him anxiety and sleepless nights, but
now there was another dead body. Another family was about to find out that they lost their little girl. Mike knew they wouldn’t even be investigating another murder if he had done his job and found the killer. His instincts told him it was only going to get worse before it got better.

Mike watched amused as Big Pete struggled to wiggle his chunky hands into the latex gloves. Big Pete grimaced and held his hands up like a doctor going into surgery. It reminded Mike of when OJ held his hands up in court showing that the gloves were too small for him. “God Damn Mike,” Big Pete said in frustration. “Would it be too much to ask to keep a box of larger gloves in your trunk?”

Mike chuckled. “If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit,” he said with his best Johnny Cochran imitation. Sometimes the only way to deal with all the death was to make light of it.

Big Pete shook his head as he kept trying to stretch the latex over his fingers.

“Let’s go,” Mike said encouragingly as he shut his trunk and slapped Big Pete on the shoulder.

The Chapel of the Chimes was a stucco church with arched wood planked doors and stained glass windows running along the sides. Mike and Big Pete approached the pasty white officer standing guard by the entrance. He looked like he had been sick.

“Are you alright?” Mike asked.

The young man shook his head with tight lips and glazed eyes. “It’s worse than anything you could ever imagine,” he told them with a crack in his voice.

“Why don’t you go get a drink of water and walk around?” Big Pete advised the officer gently.

As the uniformed officer staggered away, Mike pulled out a pack of gum and offered Big Pete a piece. Mike pushed a piece into his mouth and slipped the pack back into his pocket as he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Are you ready?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s do this,” Mike said as he held out a latex fist for Big Pete who firmly hit the top of it and then held his fist out as Mike reciprocated. Mike let out a deep breath as he reached for the twisted iron rod door handle and pulled the heavy swinging door open.

The chapel was covered in a shroud of shadows as Mike searched for the body lying on top of the altar. At the far end of the room, hanging from an opened arched window, hung the disemboweled body of the killer’s second victim. Her arms were outstretched and her feet bound together as if suspended on an invisible crucifix. How did the killer manage to get her up there?

Mike moved down the aisle cautiously, oblivious to anything except the suspended body. At first there seemed to be a dark shadow on her torso, but as Mike got closer he realized there was a gaping hole in her stomach. The killer took the time to cut her open and gut her with the precision of a hunter. Of course he was a hunter. It was just that instead of wild game, he chose beautiful young women.

The dark hole in her pale skin reminded Mike of what a cake looked like after someone took a piece from it, leaving the dark chocolate exposed in the white frosting. What kind of sick mother fucker does this and what did he do with her intestines? Mike scanned the room looking for the satanic symbol.

In all of his years in combat and homicide, he had never seen anything quite as disturbing as this. Mike was gazing at her head that hung as if she was looking at her feet when he noticed the glimmer of the knife handle protruding from her chest. It was partially covered by her matted hair like a veil.

“Holy shit,” Big Pete muttered from behind Mike.

There was a brief moment when Mike felt his stomach lurch and he raised his latex covered fist to his mouth as he fought off the urge to dry heave. He was in a daze as he approached the front of the chapel which was cordoned off. To the side of the chapel, in the hall, he saw two uniformed officers talking quietly to each other. From what Mike could tell one of the officers was consoling the other officer, who was probably the first officer on the scene. Mike understood the sickening anguish the officer was feeling. No one could ever be the same after witnessing something this vile and Mike knew the images would be ingrained in the officer’s head forever, haunting him when he tried to sleep. They were the same images Mike saw of his dad’s brains blown out the back of his head when he closed his eyes at night when he wasn’t drunk.