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Eighteen
Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are
After stopping at my hotel for some things and a long, hot shower, I drove to Hattie’s restaurant and picked up the key to her house and got something to eat. I thought about the last two sins, wrath and pride. I tried to think like the killer. I rolled around different scenarios where the crimes could be committed, any possible places the perp could take the victims. If we could figure something out, we might be able to put extra security at the locations and catch him before he performs any more sacrificial ceremonies. Unfortunately, this idea is like looking for a particular grain of sand on the entire beach.
My brain hurts by the time I pull up to Hattie’s townhouse a few hours later. I park the police-issued Charger in front. Hattie lives in a beautiful Spanish style two-story home with black wrought iron rails and hanging ferns across the front. It’s romantic and has an old-world feel. Like a proper Louisiana grande dame, she lives in the French Quarter, not that she’s home very often because she works all the time. Growing up, I never gave much thought to why Tante Hattie wasn’t married. I realized when I was in my early teens it’s because she’s gay. Even though New Orleans is a city where anything goes, Hattie’d always been discreet about her personal life. She’d tell me, “Dominique, what you do is nobody’s business. Keep it that way.” She was right.
I unlock her front door. I picked up a key at the restaurant and forced myself to eat something while I was there. She’s going to be at work a while longer, and if Ignatius should get out sooner rather than later, this is the first place he’ll come. I glance at the time as I set my bag down on the entryway table and lock the door behind me. Still a few more hours until he’ll most likely make bail. The sheer lunacy of the entire situation sets my blood boiling once again. It was appalling the way Officer Bertrand treated me. As if he had a personal vendetta against me.
As I make my way to the kitchen recalling the confrontation, the complete silence in the house makes me uneasy. The place seems darker than I remember she used to keep it. From the archway that leads to the kitchen at the back of the house, I pause and listen. My heart is beating wildly and the fine hairs on my body are standing on end.
Something’s not right.
I hit the light switch and the room is instantly flooded in light.
And symbols. Hundreds of symbols. The walls, floors, even the ceiling has them scrawled across it from one end to the other. In the middle of all of them is Hattie’s bistro table on the other side of the breakfast bar. There’s a naked woman tied down in a grotesquely unnatural position.
“Dear God…” the words come out as a whisper. I’m stunned. Shocked. Then horror immediately slams into me. He’s here!
“Hello, my queen,” a man says quietly from behind me.
I spin around.
Two things happen simultaneously, both seemingly in slow motion. First, rage unfurls inside me like a wild beast. Second, I drop my cell phone. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the distinct sound of glass shattering on the ceramic tile floor registers.
“You!” I snarl.
As a slow grin spreads across his face, his fist slams onto the side of my head, instantly knocking me out. Everything goes black.
When I finally come to, my head is a thick dark fog as coherency seeps through the blackness and the throbbing. It hurts to even pull my brows together when I try to focus. Pain drives down the center of my skull as I pry my eyes open to take in my surroundings and attempt to get my bearings. My vision is blurry and out of focus as sounds wade through the sludge of my mind.
“Free me of my pride. Make me worthy of your gift.” It’s a male voice.
I can make out the feminine sounds of whimpering and moans, and intermittent smacking noises. As my sight clears, shapes begin to form within the fuzziness.
A nude man is standing with his back to me in front of the woman tied to the table. His back is shredded with open wounds dripping blood. A flash of something black appears between the two of them and is followed by her muffled cries.
“This is your flesh!” He sounds…joyous. A loud thwack immediately follows, along with more whimpering. “It will be given up for you!” His muscles flex as the black thing flashes again – a whip – and she cries out louder. He flings his arms in the air and tilts his head back. In his hand, he’s holding a cat-o-nine tails, and, Dear God, it’s full of blood and pieces of human flesh.
Officer Bertrand!
When I turned and saw him standing behind me, everything immediately made sense. He staged the confrontation with Ignatius to get him thrown in jail. When Ignatius yelled out for me to go to Hattie’s, he knew where to find me. It was a perfect plan to separate us and get me alone. We played right into his hands perfectly.
“The new and everlasting covenant is shed for all!” Then he laughs. The sick bastard laughs.
I scream, but it’s muffled by the tape across my mouth. I try to get up, but my hands are tied behind my back, and my feet are bound together. I’m lying on my side, horror-stricken, against the wall in the kitchen with the sixth Voodoo Burning murder playing out before me.
Bertrand turns to face me, and when he does, I see he’s got an erection. I have to force back the bile pushing its way quickly up my throat.
“My queen, you’re awake.” His face lights up as if he’s happy about this. “How do you like everything?” He sweeps his hand out, motioning to the room. I can’t help but follow with my gaze, looking at the gruesome insanity playing out around me. Bertrand continues, “I did a little extra this time.” He levels his eyes on me, a genuine smile on his blood splattered face. “It’s because I knew you’d be here.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You know what they mean. It’s for you, to cleanse you.”
My body’s trembling, racked with uncontrollable shivers, so hard my teeth clamp down on my tongue.
“I want you to pay attention, Dominique. Watch everything. When we’re finished here, we can leave.”
God, no!! Please, don’t let this happen!
I feel the tears pour down my cheeks as Bertrand turns back to the poor woman he’s mutilating in front of him.
