“Who did this to you?”
A distressed but still face with a vengeful smirk was looking back at him. Her eyes frozen in grey time, drowned in spite, but also fear. Her lips formed a shout or a senseless scream. But it wasn’t done out of fear. It was done out of revenge. Or triumph.
“Detective Ernest?”
John Ernest lifted his head. Detective Paul Shimm, his colleague, greeted him. He was holding a small, pocket-size notebook.
“Tell me what you think, Paul.”
Paul cleared his throat and shifted through the papers. Although they were of the same ranking and had no authority over each other, old age always made John’s peers talk to him with respect.
“A young woman, in her late twenties, referred to as Miss Lara Laund by her ID. Five point four inches tall, dark hair, fair skin complexity.”
“Can I see the ID?” John asked, extending his arm.
Paul nodded and gave the card while continuing to read. “Moved to Boston on the seventh of September, in nineteen-fifty one; Almost a year from now. She rented this apartment from Mister Olly Keen. We are still trying to reach him, sir.”
“She lived alone?” John asked, spinning the card in his hand.
“Yes, sir. Well, as far as we know, she did not have any roommates nor are there any beds present in the apartment apart from her own.”
“But she wasn’t alone in here, was she?” John asked, standing up. His knees made a cracking sound. He grunted.
“Huh?” Paul lifted his eyes from the notebook.
Gesturing with the ID, John pointed at the tea kettle on the table and three mugs next to it. Two of them seemed untouched, although the tea in them nearly dried out, leaving a brownish stain.
“Her job?” John paced around the room. While it was littered with items and furniture, the one-bedroom apartment seemed to be in a somewhat organized and tidy manner.
“I… do not think she had any?”
“What?” John stopped. “How could she afford this flat in downtown Boston then?”
Paul shrugged. ”The neighbours didn’t have anything of notice to say about the deceased. Quiet, rarely seen, pleasant to talk to if seen. Rarely left the apartment. Stuff like that.”
“Stuff like that…” John repeated, murmuring. He walked over to the table in the room. Apart from the kettle and three tea mugs, there was a notebook with torn-out pages on the table, next to a deck of playing cards.
“She seemed to be having a good time with her two visitors,” John said. “A sore loser overreacting? No, this is far worse than what someone who loses a game with cards would do.”
“Sir, I don’t think those are playing cards.”
“Huh?” John took the pile of cards and shuffled them. They had illustrations on them instead of numbers and signs.
“What-”
“Those are tarot cards, I think.” Paul walked over, scribbling something in his notebook. “Look-” He took one out of John’s hands. “This is the Justice card, if I am not mistaken!”
John looked at the card. A person was depicted kneeling, almost praying to a sword thrust into the ground. The person seemed to be draped in a certain kind of velvet fabric, and a thin crown adored their head. At the top of the sword, scales were adorned, one holding a human skull leaking blood, the other a giant purple eye.
“What the hell is this?” John said. The simple sheet of paper made him uneasy.
“It really is a weird one.”
John placed the deck back onto the table. He wiped his hands off his trousers as if they were stained. “Tell me about her death.”
The two police detectives turned to the other side of the room. A body was sitting, leaning against the wall. The victim’s hair was stuck to her body, reaching her chest. She was dressed in a simple sleeping robe, with underwear underneath.
Her left arm was cut off just below the elbow. A red stain spread below.
Her throat was also cut, and a line seeping blood was drawn across it.
“What happened to you, Miss Lara Laund?” John asked.
She stared back at him, almost as if laughing at his obliviousness.
“Cause of death is a loss of blood, caused by… well, by the obvious wounds. A neat slice is observed on her left arm, a few inches below the elbow, probably done with a butcher’s knife. Her arm seemed to be cut in one strike.”
“Butcher’s knife? Where is it?”
“It still remains to be found, sir. Another inflicted injury is a cut on her throat. This injury was done with a small kitchen knife and unlike her missing limb, the weapon, well the kitchen knife, was found next to her body.”
“Anything unusual with the knife?”
“Not really, except for the blood.”
“So, Paul, if I understood you correctly, you are telling me that someone cut Miss Lara’s throat, threw the knife away, and then cut her hand in one quick clean slice, with a ‘butcher’s knife’ that has not been found?”
“Exactly. Well, the knife and her left hand are missing. And of course, after the autopsy, we will know more.”
John looked at her other hand. “There is blood under her fingernails. She fought back.” He continued scavenging her body with his eyes, looking for any clues he might find. “Was the victim assaulted sexually?”
“Probably not, sir, but again, we will need to wait-”
“For the autopsy, yeah, yeah…” John looked at her feet. Apart from a few bruises, he couldn’t notice anything on her. But he did notice something was missing.
“Is this the original place of her death?” He asked.
Paul scratched his chin. “Um, by all accounts, yes. Why do you ask?”
John pointed at her throat and then at the dry blood on her chest and on the ground. “Throat cuts yield much more blood.”
“But the arm injury, there…”
“The arm was cut first?”
“Um… that doesn’t make sense, sir.”
“It doesn’t make sense yet. She lost a considerable amount of blood when they cut her arm off. What little was left seeped out through her throat.”
“If that is the case, then… someone cutting her hand off must have come as a surprise. Or someone forced her to be very, very still.”
“There is so much here that we don’t know.”
John sighed and stood up. He walked over to a large but only window in the room. It faced southeast, looking down a long boulevard. He leaned over. People looked like little dots crawling around on the pavement—more and more police cars parked in front of the building.
“Do we know where she is from?” John asked. He was wondering whether lighting a cigarette was a good idea.
“On the ID, it says… Providence,” Paul replied.
“But…” John turned around, hopeful.
“We did find an envelope addressed to a certain Mister… mister Roger Gently, with the address…” Paul briefly flipped through the pages, “Two Long Street, Dedwitch, or Denwitch… It is hard to read since everything was written by hand.”
John sighed. “No letter inside, I suppose?”
“No, sir. Just an empty envelope.”
“Can I see it?”
“I am afraid Edgar and the others already took it down to file it as evidence.”
“Ah… Damn.” Then he stopped. “Denwitch? That sounds familiar to you, Paul?”
“Umm, no sir. I have never gone on a road trip through southern Massachusetts. Missus isn’t really a fan of such things…”
“Why south?”
“Well, I take it is close to Providence since her ID is from there. And, if this Denwitch is really her birthplace.”
A murmur could be heard at the main door of the apartment. The police officers who secured the crime scene and fended off nosey neighbours started to get riled up.
“No, not him…” John sighed. Paul’s mouth formed a straight emotionless line.
A tall, slim man, dressed in an impeccable plum-coloured suit entered the apartment. A clean-shaven face looked around the apartment curiously, before landing on the two investigators in the room.
“Ahh, Detective Shimm, and… Ernest.” His artificial smirk melted upon seeing John. “I see you have your hands full of… work.” The man said the last thing as he saw the body of the woman. “Tsk tsk tsk, poor girl.”
“Sergeant Shawn!” Paul spoke politely.
“Sergeant,” John nodded his head. “Rare to see you visit the crime scene, sir,” John said the last thing after a barely noticeable delay and a hint of hostility. Paul’s eyes flared.
Sergeant Shawn smiled. “You don’t get a girl with a cut-off arm every day, wouldn’t you say, John?”
“No, sir.”
“Exactly. I thought I might…” Sergeant Shawn walked over to the table. He stopped after seeing the tarot cards.
“Sir?” John asked.
The sergeant quickly recomposed himself. “I thought I might come and check it out in person.” He turned around quickly and looked at Paul. “Detective Shimm, I want a detailed report on the crime scene and the victim’s background by the afternoon, sharp. And… “ He looked at John. “And be sure to include notes covering all the discussions you had with your colleagues, no matter how trivial they might seem.”
“Yes, sir!”, Paul answered, again, almost too politely.
“And John?”
Jonathan Ernest looked at his boss.
“Try not to be in the way, John.”
“Yes, sir.”
The streets of Boston were busy and hot, despite the autumn rolling in. John rolled down the window in the passenger seat, tossing the ashes of his cigarette now and then. The memory of seeing his superior made him want to light up a new one and made his headache a bit more intense.
“Is that your second pack for today?” Paul asked, nervously looking at the stop light. It seemed to be unwilling to switch from showing red.
“I… I guess it is.” He took a smoke and let it slowly leave his nostrils. “About to tell me how bad they are for me?”
Paul smirked. “It seems you already know.”
John scoffed. “Didn’t you used to smoke? I remember us going for a smoke after lunch almost every day.”
“That was a while ago,” Paul said as he took a sharp turn. They were almost at the police station. “They are not good for the baby.”
“It’s your wife that is pregnant, not you!”
“Still!” Paul smirked. “She stopped smoking when we found out we were going to have a child. I figured I should do the same. If nothing, to help her get off easily.”
“Isn’t that fucking romantic,” John said as he rolled the window up and left the car grunting. Paul stayed for a moment longer and sighed. He watched John walk away in the rear-end mirror. He was limping slightly on his left side.
“Where’s the evidence, Edgar?”
An obese man, aimlessly flipping through a magazine, raised his eyes. He chuckled upon seeing John. “Good afternoon to you as well, Jonathan!”
“I don’t have time for this, Ed. Come on, the key. I need to check something.”
The big man sighed and dropped his magazine on the table. He opened a drawer of his desk and fished out a small key with a red keychain. E. R. was written on it. Edgar gave it to John.
“The box thirty-five. Top shelf.”
“Thanks, Ed.”
“Didn’t you hear what the brass said about the Laund case?”
John stopped and looked back. “What?”
“They want to take it from our hands and give it to guys down in Quincy.”
“The hell? Why?”
Edgar shrugged. “Beats me… Maybe they have some leads or… I don’t know. I am not paid enough to care.”
John scratched his forehead with the key. A vein appeared on his neck. “Will we share the case?”
“Nope.” Ed took his magazine back. “They will come tomorrow morning to confiscate all of the evidence. Everything.”
“Fucking hell…” John cursed and turned.
“Don’t forget the key!” Edgar called out after him.
Evidence Room was placed in the station’s basement. It was a long room with a chain fence as an added means of protection. The shelves inside were almost stacked up high with white cardboard boxes with numbers written on them. John unlocked the door of the room and entered. Each box had evidence from different cases, very likely still unsolved. He found the one with the number 35 and took it to a table at the other end of the room. A buzzing lightbulb flickered directly above it.
He removed the lid and looked inside. The tea kettle, mugs, bloody knife, even the tarot cards—everything was in there, and each item was placed in a separate plastic zip bag. He gently took each item from the box and put it on the table.
At the bottom, he found the envelope. The plastic bag made it harder to read, but John could see the name Denwitch written on it.
He took a small notebook of his own and scribbled the name of the city and the person it was directed to. Roger Gently. The man’s name offered no resolution, but the itch about the city itself continued to bother John.
Trying to put his mind to a different use, he scanned all of the other pieces of evidence. The victim seemed to have a substantial sum of money since her rent and bills were paid regularly. And yet, no money was found in her apartment, nor did any bank in Boston confirm they had a member under the victim’s name.
But she was here anyway. She was in Boston with a purpose. Lara Laund came to Boston for a certain purpose.
“Were you running away?” John asked the items neatly packed in plastic bags. He looked at the two teacups.
“Were you running from them? Did you steal from them?”
John sighed. He needed more information.
“Talking with the evidence, are we now?” Paul said, leaning on the door of the room.
John jumped. “Jesus, Paul.”
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He walked over to the table and gave a glance at everything laid out. “Staying out of the way? The sergeant would be proud.”
“Are you going to add this to your journal as well? Are you going to tell on me, Paul?”
Paul smirked. “I have finished the first version of the report. I can’t bother to add more.”
“I am in there?”
Paul shrugged. “It is what the sergeant expects. I hope you understand.”
“Throwing me under the bus so you can continue kissing his white Irish ass.” John chuckled. “Of course I understand!” He returned to the items on the table.
“You know my position. I can’t risk anything, not now.” Paul sighed. “Can’t afford to lose this job.”
“It’s fine…” John admitted. His shoulders relaxed. “I know that smug bastard wants me out. Soon he is going to do it.”
“Why don’t you… try?” Paul raised an eyebrow.
“Try?!” John scoffed. “The only way Shawn will leave me be is to join his little cult…”
“Hey! The Church of the Prophecised is not a cult!”
“They are running half the city by now, Paul. I used to serve in this station long before they existed. I am the only one remaining of the original crew. The only one who refused to… change.”
“Listen, John, I… I am not religious. I stopped being religious a long time ago. But Jenny is. And since she started attending their meetings and their… get-togethers, I only see an improvement. My wife is happier than ever! Maybe not everything new is bad, John.”
Jonathan scoffed. “Bah! You’re too green to see what is happening. Do you think Shawn climbed and earned his place as the sergeant?! You know he is the cousin of the new mayor, right? And you know which religious organisation the mayor Osla has been supporting…”
“Oh, that’s pushing it too far, John. It’s a conspiracy theory, what you’re telling me.” Paul laughed, but his eyes gave away worry.
John didn’t. “Mark my word, kid. This isn’t my first rodeo. If you want people to listen to you, you need to make them listen. Once you control the police department, little is left to stop you from taking it all…” John started returning the evidence into the box. He learnt everything he could from it. “The whole city will soon be in Shawn’s palm.”
Paul sighed. “Changing the topic, you heard that we are being taken off this case?”
“Yeah, by our blue friends from Quincy.”
Paul raised his eyebrow. “So, you know. Why are you still lingering here, then? God knows we should be happy someone wants to take an unsolvable case like this from us. I mean look at all these boxes here!”
“I… I need to know. There is something big missing here.”
“Professional curiosity is making you dig through this stuff in the basement?”
“Yeah, let’s call it that. Professional curiosity. It has a nice ring to it.” John smiled.
“Well, since we are still operating on this case until tomorrow morning, might as well indulge you. We heard back from Olly Keen-”
“Her landlord?” John cut him off.
“Yes, the landlord. And… he didn’t have anything special to say. He was surprised by her death, of course, but couldn’t give a single reason why someone would want to do that to her.”
“Did the apartment have any extra keys?” John asked.
“Only an emergency copy Olly keeps at his desk. And it was there.”
“Meaning that Lara let her murderer, or murderers, in.” John leaned against the table. “Did he know anything about her profession? Surely he must have asked that before agreeing to rent-”
Paul nodded. “You are going to love this. She was a nun.”
“A nun?! A nun… like from the church?”
Paul nodded. “Lara told Olly that she was a nun and that she was sent to Boston on a mission to help local Christian communities.”
“Which church? Catholic? Baptist? Lutheran?”
Paul shrugged. “He didn’t know. I don’t think he even cared. Olly’s Jewish.”
John sighed. The vein on his neck reappeared. He didn’t recall seeing any crucifixes in the apartment. “Another dead end. It could very well be a cover-up – a lie. The reason why Miss Laund moved to Boston is still a mystery.”
“There is one thing, though!” Paul said. He took a small plastic bag out of the pocket in his coat. An envelope was inside. “Take a look at this.”
He gave the envelope wrapped in plastic to John. It was torn open and empty, but that wasn’t what intrigued him.
“Miss Laund, apartment seventy-six, rent for September,” John read the small and neat handwriting on the envelope. “This is how she paid rent?” He asked.
Paul nodded. “Olly said they had agreed to put the rent money in an envelope every month and leave it in the mailbox. That is how Miss Laund has been paying her rent for almost a year.”
“And all of the other envelopes have the same writing?” John asked, carefully putting the envelope with the rest of the evidence in the box.
“The ones old Olly didn’t throw away, yes.”
“The handwriting doesn’t match up. Either Miss Laund wrote on the rent envelopes and the letter in her apartment was from someone else…”
“Or someone else was responsible for her rent money.” Paul cut in. “Which could explain why so little money was found in her apartment. She didn’t need any!”
“So someone was sponsoring her, paying her to live here in Boston and probably giving her monthly allowance… in exchange for what? And what had happened that ended up in Miss Laund’s murder… not just murder, in her having her arm chopped off!?”
Paul huffed. “I don’t know, sir. But I think it was more than a… termination of whatever contract she had with the people paying her rent. It was definitely more than a simple no. She… she insulted them? Or…”
A loud puffing noise reached them. Edgar stood next to the door for the Evidence Room. His face was red. “I just got a call from the sergeant,” He puffed and gasped for air, “He wants to see you, John. He wants to see you now!”
The sergeant’s office was on the third floor of the building. It was fashioned in a completely different style than the other floors; thick burgundy carpets covered the floor, and the grey walls were covered in portraits of previous sergeants and lieutenants, as well as other prominent figures in Boston’s history that somehow managed to find themselves in this building. The second floor of the building was where John usually worked – it was the floor for investigators and certain officers. The whole floor was constructed to house as many desks as possible, besides a few common rooms. It was old, cramped and always dumped in stale air. Because of the bad aeration system, they even had to smoke on the balcony. Compared to the third floor, it looked like a claustrophobic maze.
The sergeant’s secretary politely greeted John and directed him to the waiting room. John walked over to the door of his superior. A small metallic bar was mounted on it, displaying the name Liam Hererra Shawn. John wanted to knock on it, but he heard a faint voice inside. Two of them, where one belonged to the seargent. John backed away and took a seat in one of the velvet sofas present in the room. He pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. He thought about the envelope Paul had brought in. And about the rumour that the case was being handed over to the Quincy unit. He held the smoke in and slowly released it. He watched the white-grey swirl and disappear in the air. Shawn wanted to give this case to the Quincy team. Shawn himself was from the Quincy. John did a background check on his future sergeant not so long ago. He stank of foul play even then, long before the cult gained popularity in their city.
The cigarette burnt halfway when the door of the office opened. A short and smartly dressed man came out. He had a smile on his face that looked artificial to John and wore a pair of black leather gloves. He politely nodded to John upon seeing him.
A small round silver broch was attached to his jacket. A circle with a vertical line across it. The sign of the Church of the Prophesized. John fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“It was a pleasure, Mister Kolis. Until next time,” Sergeant’s voice could be seen coming from inside the room. Mister Kolis politely nodded to Shawn and then left. He didn’t say a word.
“Jonathan, come,” The sergeant softly said.
After putting his cigarette out, John stood up and walked into the office. It was a large room, comfortably furnished, although it lacked warm colours. One wall was made out of glass, showing a depressing view of grey Boston. The Sun had almost set.
Sergeant Shawn sat at his desk, putting a stack of papers in various drawers. “John. Sit.”
John walked over to the chair opposing his sergeant and sat there. “With all due respect, sir, I wasn’t aware you were trying to turn this nice office of yours into a chapel. Or a looney bin.”
Sergeant Shawn looked at him seriously for a moment. Then he smirked. “I see you still haven’t learned how to train that damned tongue of yours.”
John smiled. “Last time I had the luxury of visiting your neat little office, I was demoted. Figured out we would replay our little scenario again. Only this time I cannot be more demoted, can I? Only fired…” John fished out a pack of cigarettes and took one out. “Do you mind, sir?”
Shawn sighed. “I would rather you didn’t but I don’t have the energy to fight you anymore.” He opened one of his drawers and placed an ashtray in front of John. “Might as well indulge your last meaningless act of rebellion.”
John took a deep breath to calm himself and then smiled. If he had to go down, he would go down smiling defiantly at his corrupt boss. “Quite an odd fellow that was,” John showed at the door while taking a smoke.
“Mister Kolis is a good and old friend of mine. Yes… a bit odd, but he has his qualities.”
John chuckled. “I wonder who is pulling whose strings here, don’t you?”
“Let’s try to stay on the topic, John. Leave Mister Kolis alone. There is no point in you burying your nose deeper in my friends, or in the Miss Laund case, for that matter. I know you were sniffing around the Evidence Room, Jonathan, although I told you to-”
“Stay out of the way, yes, yes, I remember all too well,” John flicked at his cigarettes, depositing ash in the empty tray. Shawn furrowed his nose. “So it was Fat Ed that ratted me out. Can’t say I’m surprised…”
“Officer Edgar was simply following my orders, orders of his superior. Something you have failed to do so, so many times.” Sergeant leaned in his chair and looked through the glass wall. “Face it, John. You are too old for this job. You don’t have any friends left. You could see this as a good thing. I am allowing you to retire early.”
“You can buy or blackmail everyone else in the station, and I accepted that fact. Promotions for Edgar, threats for Paul. Hell, you even managed to trick some of them into joining this idiotic cult of yours-”
“It’s not a cult!” Shawn spat out angrily.
“Sure, call it whatever you want. I don’t care. I see it for what it is. But no matter what you do, someone will always remain to fight for the justice-”
“Justice?! What kind of a fairytale is that, John? Justice doesn’t exist. Never have.” Sergeant sighed, controlling his anger. “This… You… you are tiring me out. You have an impressive record behind you. Just accept the retirement. Don’t soil your…”
John pressed the red tip of his cigarettes against the table. It left a scorch mark on it. “This is what I think of your retirement, you corrupt dog.” John smudged the now-extinguished cigarette up and down, leaving black ash traces everywhere. “Is your friend involved in this murder? Has your cult done something to ask a favour from their lapdog-”
“ENOUGH!”
Sergeant slammed his hand onto the desk, his face bright red.
“ENOUGH! That’s enough, you ungrateful idiot! OUT! Leave, now! You’re done! You’re fired! You’re fucking fired! I will do my best to make sure you don’t see a new job ever again. You will die alone, without a cent to your name.”
John looked at his boss solemnly for a moment. Then he whistled. “Struck a nerve, have I?” John got up. He took the revolver off his belt and laid it against the table, right next to the cigarette mark. Then he took the badge, gave it one last look, and tossed it on the table.
“Have a good day, Sergeant Shawn,” he said as he left.
The door creaked loudly as Jonathan entered the second floor – the floor where his desk was. After a few steps in, he realised why the door seemed loud. Everyone was pretending to be busy, there was no chit-chat, and absolutely nobody dared to look at John. Fuckers, he thought, they all knew.
He came to his messy desk. While it was covered in notes leading nowhere and all kinds of thrash, there were still some important items. John opened a shelf and took an old cigarette pack, one he would keep for emergencies. His rainy day fund. For everything else, he would need a bigger box.
On his way back to the staircase, the door creaked loudly again. He passed by Edgar, who seemed to be completely lost in his magazine. He even raised the pages to hide his eyes. “I hope it was worth it,” John said as he snatched an empty white box from a stack. He left the basement, leaving Ed alone in silence with his magazine.
John placed the box on his desk and started piling stuff in it. Then he saw a small yellow piece of paper with swivelling handwriting.
Smoke break?
John raised his eyes and scanned the whole room, but it was difficult to see who was present since everyone sat neatly at their desks, heads bowed. He almost smirked when he saw that Paul’s desk was empty.
“I am surprised you still know how to do that,” John saw as he saw Paul trying to roll up a cigarette, despite the wind’s attempt to soil his plan. Paul looked up and smiled. The wind made it cold on the balcony, making John fold his arms and tighten his collar. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“A last smoke with a friend.”
“I thought you stopped.” John took a cigarette from his rainy-day pack. “You sure told me a hundred times.”
“I guess I can allow myself one for such a day. You don’t get fired every day, no?”
John smirked. “You smug bastard.” The wind was constantly extinguishing the flame from his lighter. “I guess I should say thanks.”
Paul smiled. There was sadness in that smile. Then his eyes lit up.
He searched for something in his coat’s pocket. He offered a folded piece of paper to John. “A parting gift.”
John took it. “What is it?”
“A copy of the autopsy report,” Paul coughed after taking a smoke. “I forgot how strong this shit was. God, I missed this.”
“Oh.” John placed the paper in his back pocket. “I will check this as soon as I get out of this pl-”
“I’m not done.” Paul smiled again. He took another piece of paper, the same type John found on his desk. Only this time an address and a name were written on it. “I saw the guy that was with the sergeant before you. A bit weird, don’t you think? I never saw him before here.” He took another smoke and coughed again. “I didn’t follow him, per se, but I did pay attention to his car. Lincoln Capri, quite stunning and flashy. I checked the registration plates, and…
“Troy Asberb Kolis,” John read from the small torn piece of paper. “Clipper Mast Lane 103, Quincy Point.”
“Exactly.”
“What kind of a name is Troy Abserb Kolis?”
“A made-up name?” Paul shrugged.
“Sounds too strange to be made up. Is there something else connected to this man from the database?”
“Absolutely nothing. There is so little information on him, that it made me suspicious. That was when I decided to help you with this one. You are onto something, John, but I am afraid I can only help you so much.”
“You helped me more than I could have hoped for already…”
“One more thing. About the autopsy… you will see that it was not finished.”
“What do you mean?”
“The forensic pathologist only did half the job – you will see that when you read the report. But, she was stopped from finishing his job.”
John sighed. “The autopsy is on hold until the Quincy team arrives?”
“Worse.” Paul extinguished what was left of the cigarette against a handrail. “The order came for an immediate cremation. Poor Miss Laund is nothing more now than a pile of ash now.”
John’s jaw jarred open, making the cigarette almost fall out. “Sergeant?” He whispered.
“If I heard correctly, the order came straight from the Lieutenant. But I am pretty sure our beloved Sergeant Shawn had something to do with it.”
“This is interfering, a plain obstruction of justice…” John sighed.
“And yet, we can’t do anything but continue with our day. At least us, the currently employed officers of the law.” Paul placed his hand in John’s. His older colleague cringed at the cold touch of metal.
“I will report my gun stolen tomorrow morning.”
John looked at the metallic item in his hand. It was a small revolver.
“You do realise you will be the prime suspect for this?” Paul asked, lowering his voice.
John nodded. “Hopefully I will have finished what I have to finish by then.”
“Take care, sir… John. Take care, John.”
“I will, Paul.”
“Waffles with blueberry jam and black coffee, sir. Enjoy!”
A waitress, too young to be employed, placed a plate with food in front of John. Then she poured him a cup of coffee. Black. He nodded slowly and the waitress left.
He was sitting in one of those diners that work throughout the night, and that could, should you insist, offer you the breakfast menu well after midnight. John left Boston a while ago, and all the paved boulevards and tall buildings and grand mansions gave way to semi-ruined and seemingly abandoned houses. But at least the sketchy diners, built next to gas stops, worked non-stop.
The coffee mug was almost completely empty by the time John finished reading the report. He sighed and made a small break to finish the coffee before he glanced at the paper again. The victim’s blood test results were seemingly normal, with all of the parameters falling within the expected range. No traces of drugs of whatever kind were found. The only abnormality was her white blood cells – the count was above normal. The pathologist remarked that this would usually be a signal of a severe infection, but since no symptoms or other traces of bacterial or viral infections were present, she marked that a repeat was necessary. However, the same repeat never happened, as the body was taken from the pathologist and cremated.
As for the cause of death, it was a blood loss, caused by the amputation of her arm and sliced arteries on the victim’s neck. Surprised, John realised his mug was refilled with steaming coffee, so he took a sip. He didn’t even see the waiter stop by.
“Well this was helpful…”, he murmured as he dropped the autopsy report. The victim was not drugged, or sexually assaulted… she was potentially sick but without any symptoms. Lara Laund seemed to be a perfectly normal person. So why did someone cut her arm off? And why did she die smiling?
He looked at his waffles. They were cold. John took a bite before realising he wasn’t hungry. There was only one thing left to do, he thought as he felt the weight of a gun in his pocket. John stood up, left what he owed at the table, and headed for the exit. He thought that the diner was empty, except for the waitress who was reading a book behind the bar, however, he found an old lady, sitting in a shabby yellow raincoat at one of the tables. She was flipping through bingo cards. When John passed by her, she raised her eyes and nodded with a smile. “Today’s my lucky day, son. It can also be yours!”
John smiled politely and left, ignoring her words. He didn’t think highly of people who visited these types of places in the middle of the night. He was well aware that he was one of them as well.
Quincy might be a busy and colourful town, but at night, everything seemed dark and dead. He parked his car across the street from a large house. A small metal sign that led to the garden was placed in front of the gate.
Clipper Mast Lane 103
The Thornns
John wasn’t surprised that the family name didn’t match.
He left his car and walked across the empty street. The house was a large, two-storey building, that took the shape of the letter L. It also had a private garden, the contents of which were hidden from John by a tall fence made of wooden planks covered in ivy.
No lights came from the inside, and with the poor street lamps, John could barely see through the windows without using his lamp – which he didn’t dare do in the middle of Quincy.
He walked around the main entrance and reached the fence. He would one spot on the fence where a plank was caved in, providing support for his feet. He gripped the top of the fence, and just as he was to hurl himself up and over the fence, a silent and steady voice stopped him.
“Do you want it to be your lucky day?”
Still holding onto the fence, Jonathan slowly turned his head. He realised he couldn’t grab his gun without stepping off.
An old hunched woman stood behind him, her yellow shabby raincoat hidden partly by the shadows.
John raised his eyebrows and jumped off the fence. In his confusion, he forgot he had to be silent.
“What? Why-Who? Did… did you follow me?” He asked. Jonathan came by car, and no other vehicle was following him on his way to Quincy.
The old lady just smiled. “Come,” she said and giggled. “Let’s make it our lucky day.” She then turned and wandered into the darkness which was a neighbouring house. John heard the faint screeching sound of the perch door open and close.
For a moment, Jonathan thought about just ignoring the old lady, and continuing his burglary into Kolis’s home. But curiosity got the better of him. Making sure the revolver was at the ready, he decided to follow the old lady.
After leaving the light from the street lamps, John’s eyes quickly adapted to the darkness and saw the door the old woman had used a moment before. He stepped towards it and carefully and slowly pushed them open. John could barely see anything, but by the musty and damp smell, he could say that this house was either abandoned or-
A small creak echoed from somewhere deep inside. John pulled his revolver out as well as the torchlight. He turned it on.
The old lady stood at the end of the hallway. She was smiling and looked directly at the light without a wince.
The walls had peeling tapestries and patches of mould everywhere, and the carpet on the floor seemed to be covered in several layers of filth and grime.
John flashed the light at the woman’s face. Her eyes didn’t flinch. Nor did her smile disappear.
“Who are you?” He asked, surprised by his quivering voice.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I am probably already dead. But you still have time.” The woman spoke and turned around, disappearing into another room.
“Wait…”, John said but he couldn’t stop her. So he followed.
“They won’t hurt you,” The old woman said as John entered the room.
It was dark, utterly dark, with the only light source being John’s torch. The large room wasn’t empty in the darkness though. Six figures stood silently.
Suppressing a scream, John moved the beam of his light from one to the other. Some of them stood alone, some paced around.
Just as he took one step to run away from what he now thought was a trap, the old woman spoke again.
“I won’t let them. You are safe.”
John tried to steady his racing mind while his hand frantically pointed the gun from one person to the other. “What the fuck!”
But all of the people stood still. Even when he shined the light into their faces. Then he noticed that something was wrong with them.
“Come, you need to see.” The old woman spoke again, gesturing at John to come.
Every person had a piece of cloth or linen covering their head. Some even had plain grain sacks placed over their head, with a rope tied around their neck to keep it in place.
“Holy shit-”
“Come. It won’t be night forever.”
John pointed the gun at the old woman. “Wha–What have you done to them?”
The old woman’s smile didn’t flinch. “I put them to sleep. They can’t spread in this state.”
“You better start making some sense, or I will…”
“Shoot me?” The old lady said and giggled. “Call the police?” She giggled again. “There is nobody. They already hold the police.”
Jonathan stopped. “What do you mean?”
“This is them. This is what they do!”
“Who? Who did this?”
“The seeders. Sent by the priests. Now come. You don’t have much time.” The lady went into another room. Carefully moving and staying as far as possible from the standing figures, John followed the old woman into a new room. It was a smaller one, emptied of any furniture. A dead body lay on the ground next to the woman’s boots.
“This one couldn’t be controlled. This one had to be put down.”
John flashed the light at the body on the ground.
The skin was grey and sunken, following the outlines of bones underneath. The body seemed to be male and several weeks old, but it was hard to say. What caught John’s attention was the head. It was caved in as if someone smashed the person’s forehead with a mallet. Bones of the skull protruded, forming a small scratcher, and in the middle of it, a straight black round stone was placed.
There wasn’t any smell. Bodies started to smell after a few days, and yet, the dead person in front of John didn’t smell of decomposition.
“Did you do this?” John asked, casting the light back onto the old woman.
“No. I cleaned him. But he was deeply connected. Nothing remained.”
“You are still not making any sense!”
The old woman chuckled. “Forgive an old lady, if you can. But some things cannot be explained by words.” She pointed at the floor next to the dead person. There was a small satchel John hadn’t noticed before.
“Take it.”
“What is it?”
“Your lucky day.”
Hesitant, John crouched and took the satchel. It was light. He opened it and emptied the contents on the floor. A small necklace fell out, followed by a piece of paper. John took the necklace. It seemed to be made of simple thin rope with a small rectangular marble stone attached to it. He didn’t know why he did it, but he put the necklace on. He felt the stone against his bare chest, underneath his shirt. It was oddly warm.
Then he picked up the paper, casting light on it.
It was a tarot card, almost the same one as the tarot cards he found in Miss Laund’s apartment. Only this time the drawing was different. A person dressed in red clothes was walking down a path, holding a large purple stone in their hand. A large purple eye was drawn at the top of the card, seemingly watching down. In small letters, The Fool was printed at the bottom.
“Who is this?”
“Someone you will meet. Someone whom you will help. Promise me you will do all you can to help this person.”
“I-I…”
“Promise. Me.”
“I promise,” John uttered. Confused, he raised his eyes. But the old woman wasn’t there anymore.
“Go now.” Her voice spoke, although John couldn’t see her anywhere. “And burn it all down. Don’t forget to burn it all down.”
This time, Jonathan didn’t bother climbing over the fence. The strange encounter and the six oddly still people he saw in the house next door erased any doubts and fears he might have had. Everything was already going crazy—maybe he himself was going crazy—and things were getting out of control. He was already fired from his job. What else did he have to lose?
He smashed the door open with his foot, and stepped inside, his gun at the ready. He heard some commotion in the other room and the light was turned on. He yelled out: “Police!”. It came as a force of habit.
He went immediately into the other room, paying no attention to the state of the home.
A man stood alone in a large living room, shaking his eyes. He was visibly confused and had woken up seconds earlier. It was the same man John saw talking with his sergeant that day.
“What… Who are you?” The man asked.
John paid no attention to his questions. Behind Kolis, on a large rectangular table, a human arm was placed, partly wrapped in white parchment paper.
It was placed with the palm facing up. A small purple round stone was etched into the skin.
“You motherfucker!” John yelled at the man and pointed his gun at him.
However, the man seemed calm. “Are you that rude officer from earlier today?”
“You are going down. You killed her. You killed Lara Laund.”
Kolis glanced back at the table behind him. “Oh.” He said after a moment as if seeing a severed arm on one’s table was a completely normal thing. “Things did get a bit out of control.”
John looked at the man, confused by his calmness.
“Once you accept this job, there is no going back, you know.”
“What kind of job are… were you exactly doing?” John asked, still keeping the revolver aimed at Kolis’s head.
The man smirked. “Oh, the best one there is, trust me.” Kolis rubbed his hands which were covered in gloves. He pulled the gloves off.
A small purple round stone was barged into the skin around his palm. A pulsating tendrils were spreading from it, burrowing into his skin.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Kolis said, extending his arm. “A gift, fit only for the purest of priests.”
Cringing, John took a step back.
“Don’t you want to see? To hear His music?”
“Stand back or I will shoot!” John shouted.
Kolis laughed. “Oh, well. Take him.”
Something shifted behind John and the wooden planks screeched. He turned around to look, but he was too late to notice a large tall man running in his direction. At the last moment, John jumped to his left, evading the man running at him. He fell on his side.
However, the large man didn’t hesitate and turned immediately towards John.
Raising his revolver, John shot. Gunshots echoed three times.
The bullets hit the man’s chest but did little but stagger him briefly. After three shots, the man was above John and smacked the revolver from his hands. Then he smacked him in his stomach, making all of his air rush out. The man picked John up as easily as picking up a child’s toy.
With his vision blurry and the world spinning around, John could hardly notice what was going on. The world spun one last time when the man tossed him into a chair. The severed arm lay next to him on the table.
Kolis stood in front of him. “What did you think to achieve, Jonathan? You are old. You are useless.”
Kolis stepped closer to John. His eerily calm face was just inches away from John’s. “We rule the police now. We are the police. The whole city will soon be ours.” He smiled and looked at the man who was forcing John to remain in the chair. “We are everywhere and His will is everywhere. Look at the beautiful evolution of Thomas Thornn here. He has been graced.”
John turned his head to look at his attacker. Still panting, he raised his eyes. A blank face with cloudy eyes stood above, looking forward. His forehead was caved in with a purple stone resembling a pearl lodged in. Dry blood circled it. He puffed as an animal would.
“But He is merciful even to the likes of you.” Kolis continued, drawing John’s attention. “Come. Partake in union and hear his music.”
Kolis placed his palm against John’s chest. John felt the coldness of the purple stone piercing him.
John gasped for air. The light in the room was gone. The chair was gone, and the monstrous man behind him was also gone.
He found himself sitting in a small rowboat wobbling on the still surface of a lake.
“Did I die?” He thought aloud.
Then he remembered what Kolis had done. Frantically, he undid his shirt, but his chest bore no wounds. The strange stone amulet was still there. It was cracked.
“You are not finished yet.”
Jonathan raised his eyes. The same old woman in the yellow raincoat sat across him. “I will take your place. You have a promise to keep.”
“Wait, please! I need to know.”
“Lara saw through their eyes and deceit. And she did what was thought impossible. She rejected the gift, Jonathan.”
John’s mind was racing, not only confused by the woman’s words but also by the sudden and unexplainable change of environment.
“She-Lara… Lara was one of them?”
The lady smiled sadly. “Don’t forget to burn them all.”
John gasped again. It felt as if all the air in the world ran out and back into his lungs. Kolis took a step back, surprised.
“What, how- wait!” He looked back at his palm as if to make sure the round object was still there. “Why didn’t you change-”
John realised that the monster behind him didn’t hold him in place anymore, and he jumped. He pushed surprised Kolis out of his way and jumped for his revolver that still lay at the floor. Three bullets left.
The creature that was once Thomas Thornn didn’t waste time either. Surprisingly quick and quiet for its size, it ran after John.
Three bullets.
This time John aimed at the creature’s forehead.
The first bullet grazed it and buried itself deep in the creature’s skull. It did little to stop it.
The second bullet hit dead in the centre, before ricocheting off. It did make the surface of the thing fracture.
The third shot hit the target as well, but this time there was little resistance. The sphere blasted into millions of little pieces, followed by viscous, black liquid. The creature made one more step towards John before collapsing on the ground.
Jonathan stood up and carefully walked around the dead man. He was gripping the empty revolver as if it could prove helpful somehow. Kolis was sitting next to the table, his face pale white, except for a worrisome wound on the left side of his head. He must have hit his head off the table when John pushed him from his way. He was staring at the dead body. “The Pearl… you killed it. You destroyed… the pearl?”
Jonathan thought about arresting him, but then he realised that he couldn’t take him anywhere. Nor did he want to step anywhere near him while the sphere, or the Pearl, was pulsing in his hand.
And even if he were to take him to the police, Jonathan knew everything would be covered up.
Burn it.
Before realising it, he took out his lighter. He ignited a cigarette and emptied the rest of the lighter fluid onto the severed arm on the table.
Burn it.
He tried to have a smoke, but his hands were shaking too much. He had to use both of his hands to keep the cigarette stable enough.
“You killed the Pearl…” Kolis was mumbling. He didn’t seem to notice what John was doing.
“I would move if I were you.” John finally said. He tossed the rest of his cigarette onto the soaked table. It burst into flames.
The skin of Lara Laund’s arm started sizzling. Most sickeningly, it reminds John of a pork grill.
John didn’t wait around a moment longer. He didn’t see if Kolis had run away. All that he noticed was that the fire was spreading to other rooms of the house. He was in his car. He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror.
“It’s still me.” He said.
Then he started his car and headed back to Boston. On his way out of Quincy, he heard the sirens of the firemen.
“It is still me.” He said again as he left Quincy.
Jonathan was sitting on the bed in his apartment. Everything was shrouded in the darkness and he didn’t want to disturb the peace. The only part of his apartment that was tidy and clean was his late wife’s part of the bed. The covers were meticulously done. Her ring sat on the pillow.
“I am afraid I need to go.” His voice filled the empty room. It seemed too loud and disrespectful.
He filled a bag with spare bullets, cigarettes and other necessities and opened the door of the room.
He knew where he had to go. A crumpled old map of Massachusetts was in his hands. A circle was drawn on one point of the map. Denwitch.
“See you soon, dear. I have a promise to keep.”
