The Second Coming (5 page)

T
HE KILLER STOOD
in the shadows of the night across the street from the two story stucco and brick façade bar with his hood pulled over his head waiting for the old man to leave. He was only interested in the pretty young bartender.

The door opened and the old man appeared from the light until the door was shut behind him. The killer watched with keen interest as the old man searched around the building for him. When he was satisfied that no one was lurking about, the old man got in his car and slowly drove away.

The killer waited a few minutes, carefully calculating his next move. He was not going to go in after his victim. He was going to flush her out like a wild animal. He moved briskly across the street and disconnected the phone line and then crept along the side of the building until he was hidden in the doorway. He placed his head against the door and could hear the faint voices of the TV. He carefully tried to open the door, but it was locked, just as he anticipated. This is what he had been waiting for. He pounded on the door a few times and waited for a response.

Shelly was sitting at the bar watching Sports Center having a final beer and cigarette when suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the front door. Shelly flinched and almost dropped her cigarette. She froze as she stared at the door too terrified to move or say anything. She listened intently for any sign of who it was as she set her cigarette in the ash tray. It was probably Mr. Rafferty. Or maybe it was Doug, the owner of the bar. Sometimes he came down late to check on things and help her close. Or maybe it was the mysterious stranger.

Someone slammed their hand on the door three more times. Shelly’s heart skipped causing her to jump and shriek. She placed her trembling hand
over her mouth as she slowly crept towards the darkness of the front door. The only thing she could hear was the thumping of her pulse as the veins in her neck pumped with adrenaline.

When she got to the door, she placed her hands on it and leaned in with her ear against the cold wood. She heard the jingling of keys outside the door and was momentarily relieved.

“Doug? Is that you?” she shouted.

The jingling of the keys fell silent. “Hello? Who’s out there?” She asked with waiver in her voice. “Is that you Mr. Rafferty?”

She thought she heard someone whispering. Her first thought was that Mr. Rafferty may have been attacked and came back for help. She slowly reached for the deadbolt and held it tightly. “Mr. Rafferty, is that you?” She shouted.

A sinister whisper slithered through the crack in the door.

“I know you are alone,” the voice hissed. “I’ve been watching you.” Shelly stumbled back from the door. “You better get out of here you sick bastard. I’m calling the police!” She yelled, almost in tears. She turned and scurried behind the bar, her heart racing, and picked up the cordless phone. She fumbled with the talk button, and held the phone to her ear. There was no dial tone.

“Holy shit.” The muscles in her face began to quiver. She pressed the end button and then the talk button again hoping that she had made a mistake. She held the phone to her ear and there was nothing but dead silence. What the fuck was she going to do?

There were three exits out of the building. She was contemplating which one to make a run for when the power to the building was cut off and the room went black.

She stood frozen. There were no windows in the building and the room was as dark as a dungeon. She was trapped. She began to feel her way around for her purse. She finally found it and fumbled through it for her cell phone when she remembered that she left it charging in her truck. Son of a bitch.

She found her lighter, scratched a flame from it, and lit a candle on the bar. It cast an eerie, gold reflection whose shadow flickered on the wood paneled walls. She gazed around the room, listening, as her heart pounded.

Shelly began to fish through her purse for her pepper spray and car keys. She couldn’t stay put and let the mysterious stranger torment her any longer. She was going to have to make a break for it, out the side door to the parking lot, and hopefully to her truck.

The shattering of glass from upstairs startled her. She listened for the footsteps of an intruder, but there was only silence. She had to get out of there before it was too late.

With her keys in her left hand and the pepper spray in the other, she threw her purse over her shoulder and hustled towards the side exit.

When she got to the door, she paused and listened for any sign of him. The leaves rustled in the wind. She opened the door cautiously and poked her head out. She glanced around the dimly lit parking lot and didn’t see anything except for her pickup truck. She was almost there. All she had to do was make it across the parking lot and get it started.

She took a deep breath, stepped out of the door and scurried towards the safety of her truck. She glanced back as she fumbled for her keys, dropping them on the concrete. She leaned over and picked them up.

When she found the truck key, she tried to force it into the slot but it got stuck.
Come on, hurry up.
She got the key in and as she was turning it, she felt a burning pain on her heels. Before she realized what was happening, she crumbled to the ground, dropping everything. The next thing she knew, she was laying on the cold, hard concrete, looking up at a spiraling night’s sky. What the hell was going on? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark hooded stranger slide out from under her truck. She couldn’t believe it. How could she have been so stupid?

Before she could scream, she noticed something in his hand. “Please, don’t hurt me,” Shelly stammered, “Take anything you want. Take my truck. Take my…” before she could finish, the man in black knelt down next to her, and jammed a towel soaked in chloroform over her mouth and nose. She swung her head from side to side, but he held the damp rag firmly to her face as she flailed her arms at him. She gasped as he crushed her and inhaled the sweet chloroform as she began to black out.

At the last moment, she saw her entire life flash in front of her. Not in sequence, like a movie. Instead, every significant memory she had from childhood until that night came rushing back to her at once, stacked one on top of the other like a kaleidoscope.

With his prey wounded but still alive, the killer slung Shelly over his shoulder and hurried her to the back of his van parked across the street. Everything was going just as he planned. As he got behind the wheel of the van, he couldn’t wait to get his victim to her final destination where his grand plan would begin to unfold. He was going to make Father John and his dad pay for what they did to him.

chapter
8

A
FTER ATTENDING THE
evening prayers, Father John retired to his cell. It had been a long few days of travel and his body was fatigued. He wanted nothing more than to lay down on the thin mattress of the single bed that ran along the concrete block wall, but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he put his mind at peace. Why did he have a dream about the end of days and what was he doing back in Northern California only hours from his boyhood home?

He sat down at a wood writing table and removed his bible from his knapsack. It was the bible his father gave to him for his christening when he was just six months old. It was his only possession from his childhood. He laid the worn, leather book on the desk and flipped open the cover. Inside, written in elegant long hand, his father had inscribed the following notation;

The message was simple and ambiguous, but Father John always got the impression that his father knew what his destiny was. When he was growing up, his father spoke to him like his destiny was already decided, but he would never say what that destiny was.

“Your destiny can not be drawn out for you,” his father told him. “You must discover it on your own.”

Father John flipped through the pages until his fingers came to rest in a gap. As he opened the book, he stared at a tattered black and white photo of his parents standing together dressed in their best Sunday attire. He pulled it out and examined his mother’s puritanical face and flowing blonde hair. Every time he looked at the picture of her, he was filled with an empty sense of longing. He never knew his mother. She died while giving birth to him, but he often spoke to her in his head.

The only memories he had of her were manufactured from the stories and pictures his father shared with him. It was hard growing up without a mother, and he turned to God and the church at an early age to fill the void caused by her absence.

Slipping the photo back into the bible, he pulled out the only other picture he kept of his family. It was taken when he was just a year old. It was a faded black and white photo of his father holding him in his arms, standing next to his four brothers. They were all dressed in coats and ties in front of the Oakland Children’s Orphanage, where his father was a donor, fund raiser and board member.

The only other photo he kept in his possession was a close up of a young Italian woman with long dark hair flowing in the wind. He admired her glowing cheeks and full lips as his soul ached for her. She was the love of his life.

Father John first saw her while on sabbatical at the Vatican. She was seductive with a smooth, olive complexion. She carried herself with ease and confidence as she sauntered through the halls admiring Michelangelo’s fresco paintings that adorned the vaulted ceilings and walls. When he first saw her, it was as if his eyes had been opened for the first time. Never before had he noticed such beauty. He admired every inch of her being, appreciating every curve and every feature of her glowing face. After seeing her, the frescoes were even more beautiful, and for the first time, he appreciated the artistic beauty of the artist’s works.

He wished his Mother and Arianna could have met each other. He often thought that their souls were somehow intertwined. As he closed the photos in his bible and placed it on the single shelf above his desk, he rose with a grimace. He didn’t feel right. At first he thought it was fatigue, but then he felt a sharp pain surge in his head like a white hot, steel marble, causing him to raise his hand to his forehead as he staggered into the bathroom.
With his hands planted on the sides of the sink, he leaned in and looked in the mirror. His face was pasty and a trickle of blood ran from his nose. The crippling pain grew as Father John stumbled from the bathroom to his bed.

His body ached as though he had the flu. He pulled the covers tight as he shivered uncontrollably. Beads of sweat rolled down his back. His vision was blurry and he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes, praying for the pain to go away, when he slipped into a horrific nightmare.

chapter
9

F
ATHER
J
OHN CAME
to standing in the isle of a dark sanctuary illuminated by flickering candles. It was chilly and the wind howled. He glanced around at the dusty pews and stained glass windows. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was passing out with a terrible headache.

Up on the stage, lying on the altar, he saw what appeared to be a naked woman. Father John couldn’t believe it. What was she doing there?

He approached cautiously and saw that her wrists and ankles were bound and her face was swollen and bruised. Who was doing this to her? He had to save her.

He tried to move, but he was helpless. He just stared at her wantonly. What was happening to him?

When Shelly woke, her eyes were hazy and her mind was groggy. She didn’t know where she was or how she got there. She gazed around at the flickering shadows, trying to get her bearings when the image of the intruded scrambling out from beneath her truck flashed in her mind. Where was he?

She tried to get up but a stinging pain shot through her arms and legs. As she lifted her head, she saw that she was lying naked on an altar. Her heart began to race. She had to get out of there.

She was struggling to get free when she noticed something move. She turned her head and saw a dark silhouette.
Holy shit.
What was he going to do to her?