The Second Coming (37 page)

The Sterling Killer waited until Jenny turned around and saw him. Her eyes bulged in her sockets as she stood frozen in fear. This was his favorite part; the look of shock in his victim’s eyes when they realized what was happening to them. She turned to escape and the killer was on her in a split second, grasping her by the neck with both of his hands as he spun her around and lifted her off of the ground.

Jenny turned and fumbled with the doorknob as her heart seized with panic. She was about to scream when the Sterling Killer grabbed her by the throat, crushing her larynx until her eyes bulged like marbles. Effortlessly, he lifted her off the floor, slamming her bone jarringly hard against the solid door. As her feet dangled, kicking swimmingly, she tried to swallow for air but the lump in her throat got stuck in his palm.

The Sterling Killer squeezed her neck as she tried to get away. He watched her with the discerning interest of a cat playing with a mouse as her face began to turn purple. He wasn’t going to kill her yet. That would be too easy. He had better plans for her.

chapter
58

A
S
F
ATHER
J
OHN
drifted off to sleep, he felt himself cautiously walking as if on clouds in the cold darkness. When he opened his eyes he was standing in an aisle separating rows of ornately carved wooden pews in an ancient church. He glanced around at the Chandeliers shaped like large copper censers that dangled from chains from the high vaulted ceiling as vast sweeping arches protruded over the darkened stained glass windows. As he moved forward by no will of his own, his eyes were drawn to the tall steel pipes that rose above the antique organ like a collection of God’s prized flutes.

Below the stage where the large elaborate organ was displayed was a free standing, simple wood alter and much to his dismay, lying on top of it like a sacrificial offering to the Gods, was the naked body of another unconscious young lady. Father John’s heart ached and his stomach went weak as he approached the altar. Through the faint darkness he could barely make out the pale chest and stomach of the young lady rising and falling slowly in unison with each breath. Her legs were spread open hanging down at the knees and were bound by white nylon rope to its round wood feet, as were her arms.

She looked so vulnerable and Father John watched in horror as he began to run his fingers lightly down her silky skin. Much to his consternation he became physically aroused by her helpless innocence. He tried to fight his desire, but it was too strong and he watched with a growing pleasure as the pretty blonde girl’s head began to move.

“That’s right. Wake up my darling,” he heard a sinister voice in his head.

What was he doing? He knew it was wrong and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself. Why was this happening to him?

Jenny’s mouth was swollen and pasty as she tried to open her blurry eyes. The cold air felt like stinging metal on her skin and her bones felt as though they had been dislocated and were being loosely held together by her skin. As her vision began to clear and her mind became coherent, she realized she was in the sanctuary of a church.

What was she doing in a church? How did she get there?

Suddenly, her memory of the dark figure with no face came hurtling back at her with an impending sense of doom. She rolled her throbbing head to the side and in the darkness she could see the outline of the dark, hooded figure standing next to her, touching her like a caretaker readying a corpse. What was he doing? She struggled to get free, but was quickly stopped by the intense shooting pain that paralyzed her. She was trapped.

Father John watched with detached horror as he positioned himself at the foot of the altar between her spread legs and watched with delight as the naked girl writhed in pain.

“You know you want it,” the voice in his head whispered. “Don’t try to fight it. It’s useless to resist.”

He wanted to save her, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t control his actions. He was infuriatingly powerless as he climbed up on the altar and knelt between her legs.

“Look at her lying there,” the voice encouraged him with a hiss as he bent down hovering over her, his face so close to hers that he could smell the stale stench of beer and cigarettes. “She is so beautifully helpless. No one will ever know. Go ahead and fuck her. You know you want to.”

He did not want to, but there was an uncontrollable desire pulling him magnetically to her. He could see the fear in her trembling eyes as they bulged from their sockets.

Jenny watched with gut wrenching fear as the dark figure slowly leaned his hooded head down close enough to her that she thought she would be able to see his face, but all she could see was an empty void that was like staring at the night’s sky. Who was he?

“Time to feed the beast,” the voice growled as he began to violently beat and rape Jenny.

Father John used all of his celestial knowledge of divine intervention to try and stop it, but for some unknown reason, they were of no use. He was frustratingly perplexed at his inability to save the victims. He performed all
of the rituals of divine intervention just like he was trained and had done successfully many times before, but, inexplicably, they were of no use. There had to be something different between the murder victims and the other people he had saved.

As he forcefully raped Jenny, she turned her head and bit her lip as she stared vacantly into the distance. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of putting up a fight. She had been through too much and just wanted it all to end as soon as possible.

When he was done, Father John laid on top of Jenny trying to catch his breath. “That felt good didn’t it?” The voice whispered menacingly. “You know you enjoyed it.”

Regretfully it did feel good, although Father John refused to enjoy it.

As he pushed himself up from Jenny’s defiled body and knelt between her legs, Father John could see the hurt look of shame in Jenny’s distant eyes. He wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright.

“Look at her lying there trying to pretend like she didn’t enjoy it,” the voice hissed mockingly. “She seduces you and then she doesn’t even have the courtesy to look you in the eyes and thank you. Fuck her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Father John saw the glimmer of the blade as he pulled out the knife and waved it tauntingly in front of Jenny’s pale, mascara smeared face.

“Don’t do it. It’s not too late to spare her life. You don’t have to kill her,” Father John pleaded with terrible anguish.

“Stop being a fucking pussy and finish the job,” the voice commanded him. “She is nothing but a worthless whore. She is of no consequence to you.”

“She is someone’s little girl,” the father implored. “Let her go and it may not be too late for salvation.”

“There is no salvation for me,” the voice said as he raised the knife above his head with both hands as he readied to drive it into her heart. “The Lord took something precious from me and now it is my turn to take something precious from him.” The Sterling Killer slammed the knife into Jenny’s chest with bone crunching force. Father John watched with a draining despair as her back arched and her mouth opened wide as if screaming for air.

The knife pierced Jenny’s chest and heart with the burning pressure of a hot poker and as she gasped for air, she began choking on her own blood
as she thought remorsefully about her father crying in his study. “I’m sorry Daddy,” she thought to herself as she began to gurgle on her own blood. “I love you.”

As the life faded from Jenny’s eyes, Father John watched with a burning anger in his soul. “You only embolden my resolve to make sure that these girls are not dying in vain. The time for your reckoning will be upon you soon.”

Then he watched in helpless horror as he sliced Jenny’s belly open, reached in, pulled out her warm intestines and walked over to the wall next to the organ and smeared the symbol on the wall.

When Father John awoke, he was standing naked in his bathroom staring at his bloody nose in the mirror. How did he get there? The bloody face in the mirror that stared back at him was the face of someone he did not recognize. His eyes were droopy with dark circles under them like he hadn’t slept all night and he had a drilling migraine headache. He splashed water on his face, toweled off and stumbled over to his bad. He needed more sleep.

As he lay under the warm comforter in his father’s guest room, his old room, he reflected on his dream. Another innocent young lady had been murdered by the Sterling Killer and he was certain her body would be discovered some time soon. He needed to get up and call Detective McCormick and tell him about his dream before the body was found.

chapter
59

B
Y THE TIME
Mike pulled into his circular driveway, he was craving a drink in the worst way. His mood turned dark on the long drive home as his anxiety rose like a tide of fire that was torching his heart. He mentally abused himself as he reflected on the things he screwed up, especially how he was so fucking careless and allowed Denise to be abducted and murdered. He thought about all the people in her life that he let down with his self consumed behavior, but most of all he thought about April Rose who not only lost her father to a war she didn’t have any concept of, but now she lost her mother to a serial killer. What chance did she have at a normal, happy life? How could Mike have been so fucking stupid?

Once inside he walked heavily over to the bar in the kitchen, opened the cabinet and pulled out his favorite crystal glass and a half full bottle of Jack Daniels. He slowly counted to five as he poured a stream of the textured liquor splashing into the glass. He raised the glass to his lips and with a subtle grimace, acknowledged his weak will and swallowed the booze by the mouthful. As the liquor slid down his throat and splashed into his molten belly, it burned pleasingly. Alcohol alone wasn’t going to be enough to stop the screaming and crying of people dying and the empty stares of dead faces from tormenting his mind. It was going to take something of the narcotic variety to calm his nerves tonight. He let out a moan of satisfaction as he set the glass down with a crack on the wood bar top and poured another one.

Grabbing his glass, Mike waltzed into the living room and set it down on the chestnut coffee table as he grabbed a remote from the drawer and clicked on the music. Alice in Chains was the music of choice when he was going to go to the dark side. He adjourned to his room as the strumming
of an acoustic guitar rummaged throughout the house, and retrieved the humidor that housed his pantheon of drugs from the top shelf in his closet. He brought it out to the living room and set it down carefully on the coffee table next to his glass.

Sitting on the edge of his leather couch, he opened the lid to Pandora’s Box revealing neatly assorted bags of pills, powder and cannabis. There were enough different drugs to kill an elephant and that was the size of Mike’s appetite tonight. Mike fished out a square zip lock baggie with a dense green nugget with purple hairs and pulled off a sticky pinch full and packed it into his glass pipe. With eager anticipation, he took a couple of smooth hits from the fragrant weed and sat back as the high washed over his body culminating with a pleasing euphoria in his once troubled head. Closing his eyes, he let the music carry him away to a peaceful hemisphere in his mind as he sipped relaxingly on his whiskey.

After a period of comatose bliss, Mike got up unsteadily from the couch and stumbled to the liquor cabinet to refill his glass. The marijuana and Jack were having their desired numbing affect and Mike felt as though everything would be alright as long as he didn’t think about the things that were better left alone.

As he sat back down on the edge of the couch, he set his glass on the coaster as he perused the baggies, vials and pill bottles for his next drug of choice. If alcohol and weed made him feel this good, then more would make him feel better. This time he was searching for something stronger that would act as a counter balance to the depressant nature of the pot and booze. He picked a vial packed full of white powder labeled ‘Bolivian Marching Powder’ that he had ‘acquired’ while on a ‘peace keeping’ mission in Bolivia and tapped a few small rocks onto a CD case that was on the table. It was the finest and purest of all the cocaine he had ever tried and while there was enough to last for a while, he only shared it with himself on the nights when he became his own counsel. Reaching into the humidor he produced his old Navy ID card and crushed the rocks to powder and then spread it into two perfectly striped lines. As he was about to put the ID card back in the box, he stopped and stared at the picture of the naïve youth staring back at him. Mike chuckled to himself at the adolescent view of life he once had as he pulled out a copper tooter and snorted one of the fine white lines.