The Messenger (2011 reformat) (12 page)

I'll go in
there and bust them up. No, not kill them. Just give 'em all a good shot to the
head to knock them out. Strip them all down-no, cut their little bikinis
off-then have a little party. After that, drag the three of them into the
garage.

And what then?

Carlton knew
in an instant. He'd hog-tie the twins and wake 'em up. Then he'd hang the
mother upside-down by her ankles. He'd ensure that her legs were spread good
and wide, like a wishbone. And he'd make the twins watch as he slit the mother
open from crotch to sternum. Flap her guts out onto the floor. Maybe even put a
bucket under her to catch the blood.

Then drink the
blood right in front of the twins.

He'd only kill
one of them. Real slow. Maybe put a wire-wheel on her, or a soldering gun.
Something to really get her making noise. He wanted it loud. Because he
wouldn't kill the other twin. Maybe he'd put a tourniquet around her wrists and
chop her hands off, or wreck her face with the soldering gun. But, no, he
wouldn't kill her. He needed the other twin to remember her sister's
eardrum-ripping screams. Traumatize her for the rest of her life. Ruin her.

He'd have a
little more fun with her one last time- put a bun in her oven, too, if he was
lucky-and maybe leave her sister's head in her lap and dump the rest of her
mother's blood on her head, and then he'd leave, but before he left the house,
he knew what he would say to her.

He'd say: Take
a look, Miss Priss. Pretty good work for a flunky mailman, huh?

Yes. That's
what Carlton would say to her when he was finished.

He was looking
at their front door. He was about to get out of the LLV and walk to the house
but before he could do so, something stopped him. His legs pulled back inside
as though someone else were controlling them.

Carlton knew
who. And he knew why.

He pulled
away, content, resolved.

All these
things in his mind he knew he could do. He could do them easily and without
hesitation. All of these messages he would be thrilled to deliver, Old Man
Halm, Margarita, the kids at the crosswalk, Joanna Malloy and her twins-but
that, he knew, would be selfish.

Carlton's
guide had instructed him well. There was a far more important message to be
sent today.

It was only a
few more minutes until he got there. Right before the turnoff, however, he
began to feel sick. Nauseated. Edgy. But was it Carlton who was getting sick,
or was it his guide?

He jerked his
gaze to the left and there it was. The sprawling white building with black
trim, the big sign out front. The sun shot the shadow of the steeple across the
road, a dark ghost.

St. Mary's Episcopal Church,
the sign read, along with a quote from Luke:

"Here Am
I, the servant of the Lord; Let it be with me according to your word."

Carlton
couldn't help but stop the vehicle. He was about to throw up. It wasn't the
church-the Messenger had trod through many churches throughout history, to
desecrate them. No, it wasn't the church at all.

It was
something about the church...

...Carlton
felt panicked when he looked upward. Atop the steeple was a simple cross, as
anyone might expect. The cross had no power against him, nor the Messenger. But
just below the cross, something jutted. Carlton stared, sickness boiling up.

A gold statue
stood there: an angel with a trumpet.

The Archangel
Gabriel, the messenger of God.

Carlton
snarled at the figure, hurled some invective in a language that had never been
spoken on Earth. The profanity fired into the air loud as a cannon shot. Birds
lifted off from trees en masse. Carlton wasn't sure but it seemed that even the
statue itself rocked at its base.

The hands
controlling his hands gripped the wheel. The foot controlling his foot stomped
the accelerator. Carlton and the Messenger sped away.

The vision of
the Messenger's nemesis left Carlton feeling crazed and depressed-but mostly
crazed. It would all work out for the best, though he knew that.

It would help
him deliver the message more effectively. His mentor's rage was being shared
with Carlton, it was becoming part of him. The Messenger's heart beat in synchronicity
with Carlton's heart. The Messenger's lust was now Carlton's lust. Carlton and
the Messenger were now essentially one.

The sedate private school
and its plush grounds shimmered in the sun. There was an opened gate access but
no guard, no one to sign in with. The sign read:

THE SEATON
SCHOOL FOR CHRISTIAN GIRLS.

A Cement
fountain gently gushed at the center of the entrance court.

Nice place.

A hush seemed
to spread across the grounds when he drove the LLV through the gate. Carlton
drove past the administration building and St. Agnes Hall, which was the main
classroom facility. A few moments later he was parking in front of the long,
front-pillared dormitory building.

"Why,
hello!" the nun at the front desk greeted him.

Carlton
smiled.

Sister Katrice
was not a clichéd nun; in other words she wasn't elderly, bowed, and wrinkled.
Instead the woman in the habit who smiled back at Carlton was attractive and
vibrant, mid-thirties, a pretty face.

Carlton's
smile deepened as he approached with his package. "Behold the Messenger,"
he said jovially.

Sister
Katrice's brow furrowed. "Pardon me? Oh, you mean you have a package for
us."

"Yep. It
didn't get out on the first run so I brought it over."

The nun seemed
excited, something to break up what must be a very dull post. "Who's it
from?"

It's from the
deepest crevice of hell, the Messenger's voice creaked in Carlton's heart, and
Carlton himself would've loved to say that but instead he simply looked at the
return address and said, "Let's see. Local address, no name, same zip
code. Whoever sent it didn't really need Express Mail. Still would've been same
day. Oh, well."

Then he chuckled.
"The post office needs the money anyway."

Sister Katrice
grabbed a pen. "Do I need to sign for it?"

"Actually,
yes. There's a return-receipt request." He pulled off the tab and gave it
to her.

"I wonder
what it is," she said with enthusiasm, scribbling her name.

"Hmm,
look at that." Carlton looked at the edge of the box. The flap was unsealed.
"It must...must've come open so let's see." He stuck his hand into
the box.

Sister Katrice
was frowning but she didn't say anything. From the box Carlton withdrew a
carpenter's hammer. It was a quality one: a fiberglass handle, anodized
stainless steel head, one end flat, the other beveled.

Sister Katrice
squinted at it. "A hammer?"

Carlton hefted
it in his hand. "Sure looks like a hammer to me."

"Why on
earth would someone send us a hammer?"

"Here's
why," he told her.

And that was
just the beginning of a glorious day.

II

Jane was too
perturbed. When Steve Higgins left her office, she sat there a moment and just
shook her head. Yes, the situation was curious, but there could be many
explanations.

Next thing she
knew she was up and out of her office, trotting out to the parking lot.
"Chief Higgins! Wait!"

He'd already
gotten into his patrol car, and rolled down the window. He seemed to be putting
his radio back in its slot when he looked up at her.

"You
can't just go arrest Carlton because someone at the Qwik-Mart saw him last
night with dirt on his face. That's ridiculous."

"It's not
ridiculous, Ms. Ryan," he said. "It's probable cause. We'd be negligent
not to investigate."

"So where
are you going?"

"To the
address of the delivery he's on, Seaton School for Christian Girls. And I've
already dispatched a uniformed unit."

"Would
you please wait a minute!" she insisted. "This is a mistake!"

"If it's
a mistake, then we can make that determination after questioning. So if you
don't mind, I've got to get out there now."

"I'm
going with you," she huffed.

"Ms.
Ryan, please. It's police business. You can't-"

Jane slipped
around to the other side of the car and got in. She slammed the door closed.

"You're
persistent, aren't you?" Steve observed.

"I'm
Carlton's boss. It makes sense for me to be there."

"All
right, fine." He pulled off. "But I don't want you getting in the way,
I don't even want-"

"Besides,
I want to be there to see you eat your words," Jane added. "For
goodness sake. You're all up in arms because someone saw him dirty. Did you
ever think that maybe he had a flat tire."

"What was
he doing out at that hour?"

"It's a
free country, isn't it? He's got to be to work by six in the morning anyway,
which means he's up by five at least. We all get up early in this job. Maybe he
was simply out for a drive. You ever done that?"

"I've
never done that only to be reported later to the police as being covered in
grave dirt," Steve replied.

"He
didn't say grave dirt! He said he was dirty. So what?"

"The
clerk said the man had bits of soil on him. And he positively identified the
man as Carlton Spence."

The more Jane
thought about it, the more laughable the situation became. Of course, there was
nothing funny about what had happened, but the idea of a low-key guy like
Carlton getting involved in some cult and digging up a grave was preposterous.

Steve didn't
say anything as he drove. The silent type? For some reason, though, he didn't
strike her that way except for maybe when he was at work. He's a good-looking
man, she caught herself thinking. Intense eyes. Lean, not overtly muscular but
in shape. In spite of the heat, he kept the air-conditioning off and the window
down, his blondish hair waving in the wind. When he put his sunglasses on he
looked even more attractive, enigmatic, perhaps-but more like a cop. She
smirked at herself. What am I thinking? The nip of guilt panged her. The last
thing I should be doing is sizing a guy for his looks after all that's happened
here lately. Jeez...

He looked over
at her, eyes hidden now. "Could you put your seat belt on, Ms. Ryan?"

Jane rolled
her eyes. "The Seaton school is less than five miles away!"

He looked back
at the road ahead. "It's a state law."

Jane laughed.
"Let me guess, you're going to arrest me."

"No, but I'll
give you a $500 fine if you want."

She held on
the words a moment, looking back at the side of his face. I guess he's serious,
she realized.

Jane buckled
her seat belt.

All business,
she presumed. She didn't see a ring on his left hand, not that she'd really
looked that consciously.

Would you get
off it?

She returned her mind to the
current predicament-a complete calamity. She could never even imagine such a
thing. But one thing she was sure of:

Carlton has
nothing to do with any of this.

Steve's radio
hissed in a burst of static, then a voice came on, "Unit One, this is Unit
Six. Do you copy?"

"Go
ahead," Steve said after pushing on the intercom.

"I just
pulled up to the school's dormitory. There's a mail truck there."

"Is
Spence in it?"

"No, sir.
No one in the vehicle. No sign of anyone around the vehicle. He's gotta be
inside the building."

Steve thought
through some static. "All right, check it out. Proceed with caution. This
might be nothing, but you never know. My ETAs about five minutes, but I don't
want you to wait. Find him and detain him. If it gets hairy, pull out and call
for backup."

"Roger,
Unit One. I'm 10-6 as of right now."

The
transmission ended.

Jane scoffed.
"You're kidding me. 'If it gets hairy?' This sounds like some cop
show."

"It's no
show, Ms. Ryan. Do I have to remind you that in the last couple days we've had
almost thirty people murdered by the same woman, and last night that same
woman's corpse was exhumed from her grave?"

Jane couldn't
argue with that. Instead, she thought it best from this point on to just keep
quiet and let the police find out for themselves that Carlton was innocent.

I'm certain of
it, she thought, I know he's innocent.

III