Destiny's Wrath (Destiny Series - Book 3) (6 page)

The chief looked down at the podium, whispers erupting in the room. Dennis, while still clenching the photo in his hand, leaned over to the officer on his right and whispered, “What the hell is going on?”

Bob Bishop mumbled, “Bert was asking some kid who skipped school if he knew the victims and the kid confessed everything. All of ‘em. The seven people in the Camden house and the two in the parking lot. Said he was going to build a bomb to take out the school.”

Dennis looked at the pile of papers in his hands, the grainy face staring back at him had been enhanced by the technician before printing the copies. Thinking to himself, “
Frickin’ great, there aren’t two Jimmy Jacobs in this town.
”

The chief noticed Dennis’ reappearance in the room, “Sergeant Thornton, you said you had a photo of the perpetrator? Bring it up.”

Dennis walked to the front of the room. Bert stood up and followed him to the chief’s podium. Bert was thrilled when he looked at the stack of photos, “That’s him! That’s Jimmy Jacobs. He’s in the holding cell right now, waiting for his mom to arrive.”

The chief grabbed a lungful of air, announcing to the room full of police, “Okay folks, let’s regroup in two hours. We may not need the whole task force after all.” The chief looked at Dennis and Bert, “You two, don’t go anywhere.”

In the space of two hours, Jimmy’s mother had arrived, Jimmy had repeated his story between sobs, signed a statement, and would be charged as an adult for nine counts of murder. It was the fastest open and shut case any one of them had ever known. Dennis knew without the confession they would have pieced the information together enough to overcome reasonable doubt. The city attorney, the police, the crime labs, and everyone else involved had done everything by the book. This morning they had all been nauseated by the scene. As the day progressed, the violence seemed to grow with every body they uncovered. This morning Dennis believed this would be the investigation that finally gave him the experience he needed to make detective. He was pleased now that this wasn’t the case. He didn’t want for this one to make his career. Although an asset to the investigation – he was not the one who closed the case.

Dennis made his way to Bert’s desk, relieved that a full-blown panic by the residents of Greenville had been avoided. “Great work, Bert, you didn’t even have to beat it out of him.”

Bert looked up from his desk, recognition of his friend was absent, “Yes, that wasn’t necessary this time.” He looked back at his paperwork.

Dennis was briefly put off by his friend’s icy response. Bert was absent even an ounce of humor. Dennis stammered, “You want to go get a bite or something?”

Bert looked up again, this time with a more friendly response, “I’ll have to pass. The chief wants this report turned in before I go tonight. He was none too thrilled that the kid just confessed when he wasn’t being interrogated. Maybe another night?”

Dennis thought to himself, “Yeah, that’s the reason Bert made detective and I didn’t. I’d better finish my report, too.”

Lauren

I sat frozen, “What does the paper say? Where did it happen?”

“
Here,” Max handed me the newspaper, “You read it.”

The headline read: “
Teen snaps and kills nine people.”

The article provided graphic detail of the incident. I finished reading the article and felt sick to my stomach. “Should we call Dakota?”

Max didn’t look at me. Staring off into the distance, he murmured, “I’m sure she already knows.”

“
What should we do?”

Max shook his head, “There’s not much we can do. The kid made a choice.”

I leaned heavily into the couch, hoping to disappear into it. I hadn’t seen Renny since the day Dakota brought the kid to our house. Renny had been a make shift mentor and friend, right up until the moment that she and the Council showed up, prepared to murder Max.

A demon, Samael, had taken up residence in Max. Max seemed to be able to control Samael, to keep him from taking over. At the time, I worried that one day Max might not be able to control Samael; I know Max worried about the same thing. Renny and her Council were prepared to take Max’s life that day in an effort to eradicate Samael. I know I would have been collateral damage. Whether they had laid a hand on me or not, the loss of Max would have destroyed me.

Max is the only man I’ve ever loved, the only one ever to infiltrate my dreams, the one whose touch makes my toes curl. The thought of losing him was unbearable; it still is. I would have done anything that day, including opening fire on the Council, whether or not Renny was my friend. Luckily, it didn’t come to that.

It’s hard to describe the relationship between the Council and the Cabinet. Both are made up of people, all mortals, but each has the ability to influence emotions in the people they choose to affect. The Council is made up of people who influence “positive” emotions; the Cabinet is made up of people who influence “negative” emotions in people. I’m sure there is a more complex description than that, but my simple explanation is accurate. Dakota is on the Cabinet and is able to insert “doubt” in a person’s thoughts. She once told me this was her way of helping people make good choices. Renny is on the Council and she influences “confidence,” so she, too, uses her influence to steer people to better choices. I’m not convinced either group is necessarily bad or good; the only thing I do know is the two people who are opposite one another cannot stand to be physically near each other.

The day the Council, with Renny, showed up at the house to kill Max, Dakota arrived out of nowhere. She brought with her a new host for Samael. A willing host, Jimmy Jacobs was a kid who wanted a demon inside him. At the time it seemed like a great solution, the only way out of the nightmare. The whole Cabinet showed up with her and escorted Jimmy away. Since that day, Max and I have had months of bliss.

Every now and again, conversations migrated to Samael, but more as a mechanism to cope with the situation, to talk through the fact that he no longer had a hold on either of us. We had, in all earnestness, gotten on with our lives.

Staring at the newspaper in my hands, I wondered what could have been done differently. If Samael had remained in Max, we would both surely be dead: maybe by Samael’s hand, maybe by the Council’s. I watched Max stand up and absently walk into another room. I could hear him pick up the phone and dial.

Max’s voice echoed down the hallway, “Hi, Dakota?” My heart sank. “It’s Max, Max Meyer. Have you seen the paper today?” There was a long pause. Max re-entered the room and turned on a news channel with a special report being broadcast. He sounded full of remorse, “This is my fault. I told you I didn’t care what happened. It’s my fault those nine people are dead.” More silence. I could see the turmoil in Max; I wanted to reach out to him, but I stayed planted on the sofa. I could only hear his half of the conversation, but I felt my world beginning to crumble in front of me.

Max held the phone away from his ear and looked at it: Dakota must have hung up on him. Max turned to me, his eyes full of grief, “What a bitch! She says there’s nothing we can do for the kid. She said he knew the repercussions when he agreed to let Samael in.”

Mortified by her dismissal of the situation, I nearly shouted, “Repercussions? How could the kid possibly know the repercussions?”

I knew what I needed to do. I hadn’t used my “power-of-sight” in months, but I could look in on Jimmy right now. I pulled myself off the couch and made my way to the bedroom. As I lay there looking at the ceiling, I began to question this plan. Maybe I would be better off trying to contact Renny? But I had broken all contact with her, severed whatever ties the two of us had the day Samael had been exorcised from Max. I could hire a lawyer for the kid, maybe a doctor – heck maybe even a priest. As I lay on the bed, I dismissed each one of these options right now. The only thing I knew was I couldn’t lie here pretending it didn’t happen.

As I lay there arguing with myself, I remember Renny once told me I had the power to change peoples’ destinies. I never asked how it worked; at the time I was just floored with the knowledge. Somehow lives were mapped out well before people were born. This kid, Jimmy, hadn’t been destined to have a demon set up house inside him; that was a choice he’d made. His destiny had to be something else. I was pretty sure I couldn’t go back in time and change things, but I should be able to modify someone’s path; at least, that’s what Renny had told me.

But how? I couldn’t just will a new destiny for someone, could I? I couldn’t simply “wish” the nine people back to life. They were gone forever. I closed my eyes and tried to picture that kid’s face again, tried to imagine the sense of dread from that day all those months ago. That day I had been so overwhelmed by the danger all around me, that I felt nothing but relief when the “host” showed up at the front door. Then it came, my “power-of-sight” tunnel appeared. It looked a lot like the concourse in the Detroit airport, a tunnel with bright lights all around the sides of the tunnel with an invisible end. I visualized Jimmy in my head and stepped into my awaiting tunnel.

I was transported to a jail cell. The kid was wearing an orange jump suit, lying on a cot. His eyes were open, staring at the rack above him. A man was sitting beside him in the cell. Neither spoke for a very long time. It had been so long since I’d used my “power of sight,” I wondered if it was even working, until I heard the man say, “Jimmy, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

Jimmy’s bitter answer: “Screw off, Doc. You can’t help me.”

“
You have a lot of anger. I can help you with the anger if you’ll just tell me about it.”

Jimmy didn’t respond. He didn’t turn his head to make eye contact. He didn’t fidget. The kid looked almost empty.

The doctor wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, closed his notebook, and looked to be at a loss. “Jimmy, I need for you to talk to me. I need to know why this happened.”

“
It happened because
I
made it happen.”

“
So, you’re telling me you just woke up yesterday and decided to kill two of your closest friends, their families, and a couple strangers who were unlucky enough to see you ditch a car?”

“
I killed those last two because they were going to jump me, and I didn’t want to be late getting home.” The doctor opened his notebook again and made some notes. He waited for Jimmy to continue. When he didn’t, the doctor prodded Jimmy further, “So the last two in the parking lot were threatening you? Then that was self defense.”

“
Yeah, they wouldn’t let me by. I thought they were going to beat the crap out of me.”

The doctor made notes. “What about your friends.”

Jimmy turned toward the wall, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He and the doctor sat in silence for a time. The doctor prodded him several times before giving up and asking the guard to open the door. I followed the doctor out of the cell. The cell where Jimmy lay smelled of disinfectant - almost making me nauseous to be in there with him.

A gruff man was waiting in an office as the doctor opened the door, “Well, Doc, did he waste your time?”

The doctor flipped his notebook open, “He says the first seven murders were intentional; he seems to have acted alone. He claims the last two were self-defense.”

“
Do you believe him?”

“
Most psychopaths find a way to rationalize their actions: everything is someone else’s fault. From that perspective, his self-defense claims fit the profile. He seemed to have no remorse for the first seven murders. He didn’t brag about them and refused to talk about them at all, other than to say he was responsible. The perplexing issue is, in my experience, killers nearly always convince themselves that it’s the victim’s fault. This kid only sang that song for the last two; he didn’t try to convince me that any of the others had it coming.”

“
So, is he sane enough to stand trial?”

“
I don’t think he’ll have to stand trial. The kid says he did it to seven. You could ignore the last two, and he still gets the death penalty.”

“
So your recommendation is we not charge him for the last two?”

“
I’m not a cop. He doesn’t strike me as mentally unstable. He knew what he was doing, and he knew it was wrong. I watched the grainy video; it looks like an unprovoked assault. But is it worth it to roll the dice at trial if he’s willing to plead guilty to seven?”

“
You’re right, Doc. Thanks.”

There seemed to be no hope for the kid, and I had seen enough police stations to know I didn’t want to stick around. I decided to return to my body. When I looked up, it was into Max’s eyes. His eyes were a near sea foam-green color with brown specks in them, and I never tired of staring into them. I could feel his hand caressing my arm. He must have known that I’d used my power of sight to look in on Jimmy Jacobs.