Messenger, p.5
Messenger, page 5
Jane gasped, a shock seizing her. “Her house—my God. I didn’t even think of it until now but…Marlene has a husband and a son in grade school,” and then an edgy despair set in. They’d have to be told right away. How do you deliver a message like that? It was always the same, she supposed. A police officer would come to the house, grim-faced, and say something like I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but…
To this, Jane could relate quite well, forced to recall the time not so long ago when a state trooper had come to her door. To notify her that her husband was dead.
“Have you already notified her husband and son?” she asked.
Another pause from Steve, and a discomfited look on his face. “That’s what makes all this even worse—no notification will be necessary. It appears that Marlene Troy stabbed both her husband and son to death this morning before she left for work. Both were mutilated.” Steve closed his eyes for a moment. “It looked like she’d painted the walls with their blood.”
Jane felt numb for the rest of the day, the shock wearing off, replaced with just a cold disillusionment. Her interview with Steve had lasted about an hour, a grueling affair. Details of the case haunted her, the murders of Marlene’s husband and, even more particularly, the son, Jeff, who knew Jane’s own children. A mass murder of adults was awful enough, but the murder of a kid? It just made the worst thing seem that much more insane.
When she locked her office at the West Branch, the rest of the building was grimly silent, even though the crew in back was still working. She pulled out of her parking spot and switched on the radio, hoping for some cheerful music but instead got: “—the latest on today’s horrific murders in a Danelleton, Florida, post office, where an employee in good standing opened fire on a crowd of customers with an automatic weapon, and then proceeded to kill everyone else in the building—”
Jane changed stations.
“—thirty-six-year-old Marlene Troy, known to coworkers as a friendly, diligent, and level-headed postal carrier, carried out the most tragic one-day killing spree in Florida history—”
Jesus! Jane punched another button:
“—stabbed and mutilated her husband and young son in their beds before killing twenty-six people with a machine gun—”
Jane snapped the radio off, grinding her teeth.
She drove through downtown, hoping it would clear her mind, but the peaceful city dock, and its appearance of sheer normalcy, only reinforced the horror of the day. Things were never as they seemed. People were never as they seemed. Danelleton seemed like the most tranquil—and sane—town anyone could imagine. But look what happened, she thought. Insanity could be the only explanation—and insanity was undetectable in most cases.
In this case.
The street along the pier, faced by its row of shops, looked abandoned. Only a few passersby could be seen strolling, but they were all sullen, hunched. This town is a mask, Jane thought, just like any town could be. Normal on the outside, but…who knew what was really on the inside. Anyone, any of these normal-looking people, could snap, could go out of their minds the same way Marlene did.
She shoved the thought away. Ordinarily she would’ve driven straight home to see her children, who’d be home from the rec center by now, but something unbidden steered her away from the main road out. She was driving around the block, pulling in and parking at the Main Post Office…
The EMTs were all gone, all the bodies carried off. Several police cars remained, along with an evidence van. The long brick building looked monotonous, cold, even in the blaze of the sun, nothing like Jane’s cheerful, brightly painted West Branch facility. Again, it was appearances that miffed her: true. The Main Post Office looked like a lot of federal facilities—pretty somber—but it didn’t look like the site of a mass murder. Jane couldn’t come to terms with what had happened here just this morning.
A uniformed police officer stopped her, noticing her postal uniform. “Sorry, ma’am. This is a restricted crime scene.”
For a reason she couldn’t place, Jane felt that she needed to go inside. She’d been inside countless times in the past, and she’d worked at this building for years, but now, after what had happened, she felt she had to go back inside. “I’m Jane Ryan,” she said, distracted. “I’m the postmaster at the West Branch.” She showed the cop her ID. “I knew a lot of the people who were killed. Could you let me go in for just a minute, please?”
The cop contemplated her request. “Sure, Ms. Ryan. But there are still a few evidence people inside, so try to keep out of the way. And try to make it quick, too. When they’re done, they’re going to seal the building.”
“Thank you.”
He let her pass the cordons, and then she was wandering into the lobby.
Dead silence stared back at her when the doors swooshed closed. It was very cold; Jane shivered as she walked disconcertedly past the stamp machines and the P.O. box coves. Then she heard voices.
The glass door to the customer service area had been propped open. Jane began to smell something that reminded her of disinfectant. Two men in blue utilities meandered within, one holding a large plastic evidence bag, heavy with spent bullet cartridges, the other holding something that looked like a tackle box.
“Guess that’s it,” one of the technicians said. “The clean-up crew did a hell of a job with this place, huh? They should get a fuckin’ trophy.”
“Shit, all that blood?” the one with the cartridge bag replied. “I hope they wore hip-waders.”
A detached laugh. “Better them than us.”
“You got that right. And it’s hard to believe there was a pile of dead bodies in here just a few hours ago. I’ve been working C.E.S. for ten years, six of ’em in Miami, and I’ve never seen that many bodies in one place. They’ll be working overtime at the county morgue tonight, you can bet your ass.”
“You see the one chick they were hauling out of here—one of the last ones? It was one of the employees working in back.”
A grim dip in the response. “Oh, the pregnant one…”
“Man, I could shit my pants when I think about what this world is coming to. And this one was a woman. How many times you see that—a chick on a shooting spree?”
“Never. Chalk up another one to PMS.”
“It’s getting so you can’t tell the crazies from the normal people. Christ, my house was on this woman’s route.”
“Makes ya wonder, you know? She carves up her hubby and kid like lunchmeat, then comes here and rip-stitches the place like it’s the fuckin’ Valentine’s Day Massacre. Shit, man.”
“And you gotta wonder…”
“What?”
“This sort of shit can happen anyplace, anytime.”
A laugh broke the profane solemnity, but it was a strained laugh. “Next time it could be me. Could be you.”
“Could be anyone.”
A pause, for a last look around, then: “Come on, man. Let’s get out of this fuckin’ slaughterhouse…”
Jane’s distracted daze snapped when the morose banter ended. She didn’t want to be seen by them, and she didn’t want to be here anymore. In fact, she still wasn’t sure why she’d come in at all.
She grabbed her cars keys and rushed out of the building, hoping to never have to enter it again. Even though all the bodies had transported out hours ago, it felt to Jane as though she were fleeing a mass grave.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
(I)
The two children would’ve otherwise been a perfect picture. Standing quietly, respectfully, hands folded before them. The eight-year-old boy—his name was Kevin—dressed tidily in a navy-blue blazer with gold buttons, gray slacks, a blue-and-gold-striped tie. His banged almond-brown hair was combed just right, not a hair out of place. Kevin was a well-behaved boy (at least most of the time) and even though he didn’t fully understand what was going on here—or what had happened—he knew that it was very important for him to be good today. Not a peep was heard from him.
Standing next to him, just as tidily, was his eleven-year-old sister, Jennifer. Tall and slim, with the same eyes as her brother, she looked like the perfect young lady in her navy skirt with a gold butterfly-chain belt and flowered slate-blue sleeveless top.
A coffee-colored ponytail hung down to her beltline, held with a pretty band. But Jennifer was old enough to know the importance of remaining quiet and being good at this place.
They were in Winter-Damon Cemetery, just outside of Danelleton.
She’d been to a graveside service in a cemetery once before, to see her father buried.
Finches chirped obliviously in the tall shade trees surrounding that section of the graveyard. A high sun shone through the trees, in a sky blotted snow-white with trace clouds. A refreshing breeze slipped through, taking some of the heat out of the air.
A stoic minister stood before the three coffins, his voice resonating:
“Remember thy servants, O Lord, Marlene and Michael and Jeff, according to the favor which thou bearest unto thy people…”
Jennifer took Kevin’s hand, gripped it assuringly.
“…and whosoever liveth, and believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life…”
The minister closed his tasseled prayer book, then extended his hands, without missing a beat.
“…through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory, forever and ever. Amen.”
In unison, the standing crowd around the triple-grave responded, “Amen.”
Jane put her arm around the two well-dressed children, hugging them close. Jane was their mother.
Yes, she knew Jennifer was old enough to comprehend the funeral, and she hoped that Kevin was, too. Kevin had been too young to attend her husband’s funeral, though, but now, after much delicate explaining, the boy had a concept of death. Jennifer had been a trooper about this, perhaps grasping more. She recalled her father’s burial and she specifically asked to attend this one. The first fact of life was death—all children had to learn about it. But what bothered Jane were the circumstances here. Her children had known Marlene’s son. Now the son was dead, and it had been his mother who’d killed him.
How could children ever fully understand that?
“It’s all over, kids,” Jane said softly. “We can go home now.”
Jane led the children down the winding path toward the cars, nodding briefly to other mourners she knew. Jennifer and Kevin kept silent, still confused by the day and the redundant comments by others as they left, like: “Life goes on,” and “They’re all in a better place now.” Blue-haired old Mrs. Baxter, one of the town’s fussbudgets, limped contentedly by on her cane, observing, “It’s all God’s will, we can’t question that. The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Jane smiled curtly, hurt by her son’s perplexed expression. How could she ever explain anything—especially anything about God or spirituality—on a day like this?
I just want to get out of here, she thought. From far off, a bell tolled, and its lonely peal snagged her. It made her think of that bizarre sketch Steve Higgins had shown her.
A sketch of a bell.
What had that been all about? Something the police had found at Marlene’s house. Even more bizarre was Steve tone of voice when talking about it. So ambiguous. It seemed as though the police chief didn’t want to reveal everything he knew about the sketch.
The service was fully disbanding. Not too long from now, Jane knew, the three coffins would be lowered into the ground and buried, Marlene and her family gone forever. More facts of life in death.
“Look, Mom,” Jennifer finally cut into the silence.
“What, honey?”
“There’s Carlton.”
Jane saw her new manager standing between several parked cars on the path. He stood alone, in a somber dark suit, and was staring off.
“Carlton’s cool,” Kevin said. “He knows all the cheat codes for Tech Warrior.”
It was some video game; Carlton would sometimes come over and entertain the kids with gaming skills.
“Hi, Carlton!” Kevin greeted, waving.
But Carlton didn’t notice their approach. He remained there staring off.
“Hey, Mom, is Carlton okay?” her son asked.
“He looks a little out of it,” Jennifer precociously added. “I guess he’s depressed about Marlene, too.”
Jane squinted as they got closer. Yeah, he looks out of it, all right. More than that. Was he drunk? Carlton stood awkwardly, as if tilted, hands limp at his sides. He seemed to be squinting up at the sky. At one point, he grinned, muttered something inaudible to himself, then his face reverted to a blank stare. The kids easily noticed this, too.
“Hi, Carlton!” Kevin greeted again.
And, again, Carlton didn’t hear him.
Jane walked up to him. “Carlton? Are you all right?”
The man blinked, winced, then abruptly acknowledged her. “Oh, hi, Jane. Hey, kids.”
“You looked off in space. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m just a little…”
“Out of it?” Jennifer said.
Carlton smiled, then patted Kevin’s head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Not feeling too hot is all, and then all this…”
“I know, Carlton. We’re all a little out of sorts. Who could figure something like this?”
“Yeah. I still can’t believe it.”
Jane looked at him more severely. He really doesn’t look well. Carlton’s face looked drawn, pale, eyes tired. “You look kind of sick, Carlton,” she said next. “If you want to take a few days off, that’s fine with me. No offense, but you look like you could use it.”
“No, no, I’m fine. And, after all, we’ve got a brand-new post office to run, plus we’ll be doing double duty while the police have the Main Branch closed. Besides, I want to work. It keeps my mind off things.”
Jane knew what he meant. “I guess the only thing any of us can do is pick up the pieces and move on.”
Kevin tugged at Carlton’s jacket sleeve. “Carlton, can you come back to the house and play me in a Tech Warrior deathmatch.”
Jane interjected, “Honey, I don’t think Carlton’s feeling up to video games today.”
“Nonsense,” Carlton said. “Come on, Kevin. I can always go for a deathmatch.”
“And you can watch me feed Mel,” Jennifer said, Mel being the family’s pet lizard.
Jane shook her head. “I can’t believe how much you guys enjoy feeding crickets to that thing.”
The four of them headed back down the path, still uncomfortable but coming to grips with the fact they’d never see Marlene or her family again. Jeez, Jane thought. What can you do?
“Hey, Mom—” Suddenly there was a tugging at her belt. “Who’s that weird-looking guy over there?” Kevin said.
“Where?” Jane and Carlton said at the same time.
Kevin pointed toward a stand of trees, then lowered his finger, confused. “He was there a second ago.”
“I saw him, too,” Jennifer said. “He had long hair and a beard.”
“He looked really creepy,” Kevin added.
Carlton walked over to the trees, looked behind them. “There’s no one here, kids. No creepy guy with long hair and a beard.”
Jane frowned, urged the children toward their car. “He was just someone attending the service. Forget about it, honey.”
Carlton caught back up to them. “He probably got in his car and left.”
Kevin kept looking over his shoulder as they moved off, unconvinced. “It was really weird, though, Mom.”
“What, honey?”
“That man… He was staring right at you.”
(II)
He was staring right at her. Actually, through her, not at her, that strange hinge-like noise in his head. Everything he felt was wrong—he didn’t know which auguries to trust and which to dismiss. It always came to him in his mind and dreams.
He knew that the Messenger was near.
God in Heaven, he thought and almost laughed out loud.
His name was Dhevic. He was a large man. He came from many places but felt rooted to no place in particular. Location was relative. For him, his life was a mission that ignored geography, society, and even culture. He had his instincts and his blood; he needed little else.
Worse for wear now, gray etching his beard and shoulder-length hair, he moved off, doubting that he’d even been seen by the woman. Would she be next? The blood in his brain gave him no inklings. Or would she just be more fodder? It was hard to tell these days—Dhevic was getting old.
He slipped away quickly, light on his feet in spite of his height. He didn’t like to remain in graveyards long—the dead soured his visions. They sometimes whispered the most forbidden—and atrocious—things.
Have to get out of here…
Dhevic drove off, wondering more about the attractive woman named Jane Ryan. Maybe I’m just seeing too much into things, he thought. It was always so hard to tell. He shouldn’t be thinking at all because it was the thinking that made him see.
In his mind he’d seen the other one and the ensuing bloodbath, a festival of carnal horror. Marlene. She’d cut her husband’s throat to the bone while they’d been having sex, riding him like a gasping beast, thrusting down on him as blood shot from the riven throat. Then she’d finished herself off in her glee, masturbating wildly over his corpse. She’d rolled around in his blood, covering every inch of herself: hair drenched red like a mop, grinning face smeared red, her breasts erect and shining in bright red. She’d already butchered her son, but for her husband she took extra care. Her scarlet hands wielded the knife, not with rage or hatred but with great passion, great love, and as she worked, taking out parts and opening him deeper, she felt caressed from behind by someone who felt that same passion and love for her, or at least it seemed that way. Marlene couldn’t see this person, but she knew he was there almost as though he were part of her, almost as though his hands were on hers, guiding them in her tasks. She would be caressed later by the same entity, when she delivered her message and machine-gunned the Main Branch post office.
