ELIJAH
When I was a young man, I'd learned through personal experience how easy it is to take advantage of a person or situation. Sometimes it was something as simple as stumbling into a place at a time when some other person is doing something they shouldn't. Other times, it took coercion, a simple method of attracting a victim by learning how easily they could be victimized.
Victims aren't so difficult to find. They're everywhere you look while walking down a crowded street. The inferior, the weak minded, the forgotten who stand on the sidelines just hoping that somebody would one day see them as more than just a pathetic stranger struggling to get by. One must be careful though, not all outcasts are looking for companionship. You have the find the ones who are truly lonely, the ones who are outcasts by force rather than choice. Those who are unloved when all they crave is the love they've been refused.
Growing up, I was one of those weak minded. Lack of love wasn't my issue. It was more of too much love, too much attention, too much protection by a strict and uncompromising hand.
Often I'd arrive at my local parish ready and willing to escape the walls of my childhood home, but carrying with me the markers of my unfortunate circumstances. It didn't matter what I said or did, what I believed or how I behaved, the old man always found a reason to worry about my eternal soul. He left his mark on every square inch of my body, small bruises, small splits in the skin, the occasional bump that swelled into a painful reminder of what my punishment had been.
On timid feet, I'd walk the interior of the parish donning the white choir robe all members wore, the length covering my scrawny legs, but the sleeves never quite enough to hide my arms.
The music director would notice the bruises, his eyes darting between the sheet music on his stand and me. When first I'd joined to lift my voice to the highest power, he'd assigned me a spot in the back, eventually moving me forward through the weeks and months until I was the student standing directly in front of him. He'd recognized the victim easily enough, a boy with no support, no champion, no protector to whom he could run.
His attention was innocent at first. A kind word spoken when nobody else could hear, a soft brush of his hand against my back while we filed past him into whatever room into which we were being directed, a well timed compliment on the days when the bruises were new and fresh. It wasn't long until he'd asked the question that didn't require a response. The marks and bruises, cuts and scrapes were the only answer he'd needed.
I was being groomed, my innocent mind being made to believe that someone cared. My mind didn't stay innocent for long.
"You can't speak a word of the sin that I've pulled from your body. What would your father think if he knew?"
The best method of trapping a victim and forcing their silence is to make them believe that they, too, were dirty. The music director had been the first smudge of dirt against my skin or inside my body- the priest following shortly after.
Much like the method used by the men who'd abused me when I'd been too young to understand, that method was how I'd trapped Gentry at my compound, and it's why, a week later, he walked his brother into the parish with an expression of guilt written across his face.
"Gentry," I greeted him, my voice solemn and resigned. Turning my gaze to his brother, I inclined my head, "Sheriff Holmes. It's good to see you."
Whereas Gentry was tightlipped and solemn after sobering up to realize what he'd done, his brother was aggressive, a take charge personality whose only weakness was his kin. "Father Hayle. I hear we have a problem in our town."
A practiced smile stretched my lips. "I assume Gentry told you about the trouble we had the other night. Perhaps we should go into my office to discuss it."
The two men followed me silently down the hall that led to my office. Taking their seats just as quietly, they waited patiently for me to round my desk, sit down and face them with a blank expression. I didn’t need to say a word to start the conversation. Sheriff Holmes had enough to say to fill the silence of the room.
“I want to know your take on what happened at the compound you maintain in the neighboring town. What is that place? Why do you have it? And where are you finding these possessed people like Gentry claims?”
My lips stretched into a slight frown, my forehead wrinkling with the dismay I hoped both gentlemen would believe I felt. “I don’t own the compound. It’s registered to a religious organization and was given to me for my use. You see, I assist the group of devout people who live there in order to escape the reality of the wicked world in which we live. They are people who have true faith in God, but have found it difficult to avoid the poverty and violence implicit in this world. I provide them with my presence, my blessings and my sermons on days I’m not required to perform duties at the parish.”
Twelve years ago when I’d taken the money I received as hush money from the parish I attended as a child, I’d purchased the compound and refurbished it to suit the needs of the family I was in the process of growing. However, knowing that I would eventually want to work in the shadows of society and not be known as Jericho Hayle, I’d started a business enterprise in another country, listed the business as a religious organization in the states and then filed all the necessary papers in such a way that the trail would never lead back to me. Knowing little about taxes, and not wanting to deal with any accountants face to face, I ensured that no money was made by the organization and filed the appropriate paperwork yearly. Signing under an assumed name, I’d managed to keep the compound running while preventing a paper trail that would be easily followed back to me. I wasn’t concerned with Sheriff Holmes discovering the truth that I owned the facility. I’d dotted every I and crossed every T to prevent such a discovery.
“The family, as they refer to themselves, are humble people, Sheriff. They’re meek and afraid of the outside world. The compound is somewhat of a shelter for them. They grow their own food, sew their own clothes, raise and educate their own children, and do so under the oversight of the Almighty. That’s how such a place has existed for twelve years without becoming well known. You’re welcome to look into all the county paperwork regarding the property, if you’re so inclined.”
Reaching up, he tugged at his well-groomed beard, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. Much like his brother, Gentry, he had a focused and intense gaze, his skin tanned by the sun and wrinkling from age. There wasn’t a speck of grey in his hair that peeked out from below his hat, and it was obvious he kept in shape for someone of his age. I assumed chasing down criminals for a living helped maintain his physique.
With a gruff voice, he answered, “I will look into it, but the ownership of the facility is not my concern. I’ve known of the building since I oversee the county police work, but I never understood how many people lived there.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I folded my hands together over the smooth surface of my desk. “It’s like I said: they’re quiet and they don’t cause problems. It’s more than can be said for other individuals freely roaming our town and the neighboring towns around us.”
“Which leads me to my other questions. Gentry tells me he had to-“ His voice trailed off and I assumed it had to be difficult for a sheriff to admit openly that his brother committed cold-blooded murder. “That he had to kill a man who was possessed by the Devil. How often does that happen?”
My seat groaned as I reclined back, my legs crossing at the ankles beneath my desk. “That was the first time I’ve seen a man as spiritually tortured as the man that evening. Like your brother, I was shocked by the condition of him. Members of the family claimed to have found him wandering near the compound. They were concerned and brought him in hoping I could heal him with prayer.”
Casting a purposeful glance at Gentry, I added, “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the opportunity to try. The man was … extinguished … before I could offer the first word.”
The two brothers shared a glance at each other, some unspoken thought passing between them before they returned their gazes to me. Gentry was still quiet, effectively trapped in his state of continued shock over what happened just a week prior. Sheriff Holmes, however, had no problem speaking out.
“Is our town under spiritual attack as you claim, Father?”
I smiled, but not so much that they would assume the expression was anything more than a sad, resigned response.
“Between you and me, yes. I believe the entire world is under spiritual attack, but that goes back to the beginning of time. I’m sure you’ve read your Bible, Sheriff. Demons, and other such spirits and creatures are warned about. It’s spelled out quite eloquently by our ancient ancestors. The only thing that’s changed since their time and ours is the method we use to fight against it. It’s unfortunate that in today’s civilized society, we leave ourselves open to evil. You should know. You deal with the vile and depraved in your line of work. I’m sure you see examples of it on a daily basis. So, knowing what you know, and seeing what you see, you tell me how you’d answer the question you just posed.”
Rather than blurting out a response in an effort to argue with my view, Sheriff Holmes took the time to consider my response. He wasn’t the typical rural farmer, didn’t limit himself to the activities and concerns of the day to day. From what I could see within the myriad of thoughts and expressions that floated through his gaze, this man was critiquing what I’d said with an educated understanding of the crime and terror that flooded the lives of people, the horror that was expanding and deepening day to day. Nobody hated a criminal more than a man of the law. Even those lawmen that were criminals themselves.
“I know what you mean,” he finally answered, his voice softer and thoughtful. “Every damn day we’re dragging in more people. I once thought it was desperation that led them to the petty crimes they committed, but lately, I’ve been seeing things that cause my skin to crawl. Just the other day, I visited a farm where some of the livestock had been slaughtered. Not for food or any decent reason, but for fun. It cost the ranch owner not only money, but also peace of mind. He’d lived and worked on that land for thirty years and had never seen something like what we found that day. I didn’t write my opinion into the official record, but I believe the slaughter had been satanic. Possibly a cult type influence for people committing their evil on the fringes of society.”
My lips kicked up into a grin, but I had to fight the expression. I hadn’t heard of this slaughter and I assumed it occurred in a neighboring town – one in which the people didn’t regularly visit my small parish. “I’m sorry to hear you had to witness such darkness, Sheriff. I don’t think I need to point out that such a display is only proof of my concerns. We’re a small town with small town concerns, but it seems the evil that has infected the big cities is now bleeding into our mountains. Not too long ago, I heard there was a murderer who butchered several young girls. It was a state over, so I know you weren’t involved, but being law enforcement, I’m sure you must have heard.”
His expression darkened, pure hatred now blazing behind his steel colored eyes. “Yes, I’m aware of the incident. From what I know, they caught the man, but worried about additional victims that haven’t yet been reported missing. What he did to those girls was disgusting.”
Inclining my head, I let the silence fall between us as proof of my point. Evil is all around us in this world. It tiptoes down dark alleyways, spreads through the sewers and contaminates our lives. It trickles down rivers and streams until leaking into our small, peaceful towns. Everybody is affected by the evil that surrounds us. Whether the influence is to infect some with the desire to commit it themselves, the terror of knowing the details of some sicko’s crime, the constant influx of horrible events that were daily discussed on the local news, evil had a way of touching our lives, darkening our doorsteps and shaking our hand when we least expected it. And while some people were strong soldiers, able to endure and remain blissful while knowing that evil was just around the corner, others became distraught. They watched their children more closely, lamented the time period when they had been raised and could play in the yard without fear of being snatched and taken away for some nefarious purpose.
What evil had done is cast fear in the hearts of most Americans, and it was exactly that fear that men like me used to poison the mind with thoughts most average people would never think for themselves.
I disguised myself well as a man of God, and as I lurked beneath the mask of a decent man, I was the worst type of demon of all. I couldn’t take credit for the idea – the same types of demons had long ago preyed on me.
Tugging at his beard again, the tendons in his hand sticking out against the skin, the veins purple and pulsing, it was obvious how distraught Sheriff Holmes had become in response to our friendly conversation.
“What should we do about this, Father? What can be done?”
I shrugged again and played the resigned priest who saw no other option but the standard: Prayer to God. The useless hope that a man who sat in the Heavens would find it within himself to look out for our lives. “I guess we can keep praying…” My voice lowered before finishing the statement. “Or perhaps we can find another way to fight.”
“I say we kill them all,” the Sheriff replied. “I say we end this shit now, and hopefully God will find it within himself to return his blessings to us for the war we fight in his name. Gentry isn’t the only man facing losing everything he owns. The problem is widespread. The fields have gone barren and the banks are trying to kick us out of our homes. People are desperate and struggling, fearful and withdrawn. Surely you’ve noticed the despair in your parish? So who are we supposed to turn to? The government?” He barked out a humorless laugh. “They aren’t any help. So, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we should be taking this into our own hands.”
Nodding my head, I silently agreed. Although my expression and posture were solemn, inside I was dancing. This son of a bitch was leading me down the path I wanted him to go, and I didn’t have to do anything but follow.
Quietly clearing my throat, I sat forward and made eye contact with both Gentry and his brother. “I’m at a loss as to what can be done. I’m sure you both understand. My occupation in life ties my hands. I don’t see how I can be of assistance other than to offer my sermons and prayers.”
“How about giving us use of your compound? How about helping us exorcise these demons so we can send them straight to Hell? You have power in that area, don’t you? You are a hand of God, are you not?”
Hesitantly, I answered, “I am, but –“
“But nothing. You are a representative of God’s power. You are a holy man and, as such, you can help us in this. The compound is so far out of the way that nobody would know what’s going on. And with the woods surrounding it, nobody would figure it out. There’s not a single home or farm within several miles.”
My eyes narrowed as I continued to play the part of the humble priest. “What, exactly, are you suggesting, Sheriff Holmes?”
He pinned me beneath his intense gaze. “I’m suggesting we exterminate the evil.”
I sat back in my chair and steepled my fingers at my chin. Giving the matter some thought, my lips pulled into a tight line as I darted my focus between the two brothers. Where Gentry looked frightened by the conversation, Sheriff Holmes looked resolute. It wasn’t difficult to determine which one between the two was the strongest brother.
“Are you saying we should, what? Hunt people down on the streets? Abduct them and take them back to the compound to determine whether or not they’ve been infected by evil?”
Please be saying that….please!
“No, I’m not suggesting we abduct people…”
Damn…
“I have an idea that’s even better. Being the Sheriff, I have access to all the criminals that are leaking their evil into our streets. I say we take them to the compound to find out whether their souls can be saved, or whether they need to be extinguished to keep their evil from spreading.”
My brows shot up my forehead and it was difficult as hell to keep a smile from stretching my lips. I’d hoped for taking a few unfortunate people off the streets, but by the sound of it, Sheriff Holmes’ idea was even better. I couldn’t get too excited. I still needed them to believe I was on the fence with their idea. It wouldn’t be too fitting of a priest to be excited about bloodshed and death.
“You’ll have to excuse me for my ignorance on this, Sheriff, but how would you remove criminals from jail without their absence being noticed?”
The Sheriff smiled. “If they never make it to the jail in the first place, how would anybody know they’re missing?”
My lip twitched, but I forced my expression back into a blank expression. I had to keep up appearances, had to pretend I’d objected to this idea. In truth, I was fighting the desire to jump from my chair, reach across the desk, and pull this big bastard in for a tight hug. Where I’d hoped he would simply turn his head to a few odd occurrences throughout town, he’d gone a step further and offered to deliver the evil I wanted directly to my door.
What more could a sadist ask for?
Schooling my features, I drummed my fingers against the surface of the desk, my eyes casting up toward the crucifix on the wall. The time and silence gave me the appearance of a man who was in doubt with the suggestion being offered, but what they didn’t understand was that I’d already accepted the offer, and I was using the time to figure out exactly how I could use it to my benefit.
My gaze returned to the Sheriff. I held his stare for several seconds before asking, “Will I be given the opportunity to talk to these people? Will I be allowed to determine if they can be saved before we decide on more drastic measures in how they should be handled? I don’t want to make a mistake and condemn a man who could be led to God’s holy light.”
The Sheriff exchanged another glance with his brother before returning his attention back to me. “I’m sure that can be arranged, Father. But, some of these individuals are violent men. I want to ensure your safety while we evaluate them. Gentry told me you have a cage in which the criminals could be held.”
Yes. Yes I do. I have more than that, but these men didn’t need to know it.
Speaking slowly and with feigned reservation, I acquiesced to the terms. “You have to understand that this decision is not easy for me to make. I’m a man of God, a priest, and a Shepherd to my flock of parishioners. I prefer to teach the tenets of peace and love, of salvation and absolution.”
The sheriff opened his mouth to talk, but I held up my hand to silence him.
“However,” I added, “I’m also not a stupid man who is blind to the fact that evil is infecting this town. I tend to think we can drive it out of people, much like I’ve been trying to do with the ladies who are trapped within lust’s hold. I’m sure Gentry also told you about a woman I’ve been working with lately who’s lust is powerful enough to tempt a married man.”
Gentry winced at the reminder of having laid a lustful hand on Eve’s body. His brother’s expression darkened even more. “Yes,” he answered. “I’ve been informed.”
Breathing out, I drummed my fingers again, fidgeted in my seat, and took my time responding. One didn’t want to appear too eager.
“Fine. If you think this will help the town, I’m willing to try this approach and see if it helps alleviate the town of its suffering. However, for now, I think we should keep this between us and any other man who thinks he can be of assistance without drawing the attention of the entire town. I think it’s also important that children and women be kept away from this ordeal until we know we have a good handle on it. I see no reason to upset them with the details of what we’re doing to protect the town’s interests. The less people who know, the better, but in time, I think we can make it known that something is being done.”
Sheriff Holmes nodded his head and rubbed his palms over his pants. If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I caught the gleam of heady anticipation in his eyes. Perhaps the Sheriff had been looking for an excuse to act against the criminals he encountered on a daily basis, and I was sure the compound was the perfect place for him to carry out his innermost desires without drawing attention.
Once again I was looking into the face of the truly wicked: the men and women who hid behind the masks of spiritual leaders, teachers and cops, pretending to be helping us when, in truth, they were preying on us for their perverse pleasure. They were the wolves in sheep’s clothing that the world had been warned about. And because they hid in places of authority and goodness, they were the worst evil of all.
“When would you like me to bring the first man to the compound?”
My fingers drummed one more time, my lips downturned when all I really wanted to do was smile wide.
“I have duties in the parish for the rest of today,” I answered. “But I have a sermon to give at the compound tonight. Do you think you’ll find somebody in time?”
The radio at his side blared with static, a voice coming through to call out for police assistance before rattling off a bunch of letters that meant nothing to any person not employed in law enforcement. I inwardly chuckled to think that the timing of that call had been a Godsend.
Sheriff’s Holmes’ eyes went wide once the noise stopped. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice tight and restrained. “I can have somebody there tonight.”