Page 27 of Finding His Home

“What about a burning goat, like the Last Judgment from the Bible?”

She shook her head and watched a noisy car leave the parking lot. “How about a unicorn on your ankle next month?”

“What if I give you $5000 now?” He showed her the face of Ben Franklin on a stack of $100 bills and slid her half the bundle.

She looked him in the eye and laughed. “Did you rob a bank?”

“No. It’s a gift from a friend.”

The tattoo artist took the money into the back room before she returned and led Ed to the ink machine. He closed his eyes and imagined himself dead on an embalming table. He did not complain when the needle stung his face. When he opened his eyes and gazed into the mirror, he saw the bright, red cross that extended vertically from his hairline to the space between his eyebrows.

She poked her finger into his sternum. “Don’t tell anyone I did this.”

“Agreed.”

She hesitated before shaking his hand. Her grip was loose, and she wiped her hand on her shirt when he let go. “It’s going to bleed a lot.”

“The more blood, the better,” he said, looking forward to his visit with Stephen.

As he stepped back into the car, he recalled the evidence planted under his brother’s mattress. He considered going back to retrieve the memory stick, but he feared retaliation from the voices.

As he started the ignition, he heard a high-pitched beep that triggered a migraine behind his right eye. “Blunt your sympathies, or we’ll never accept you as one of us.”

“I don’t take orders from you or anyone else, devil. You serve me.” Groaning in pain, he rushed back to Stephen’s home and retrieved the memory stick beneath the mattress.

Returning to the rental car, Ed heard Senator Walker’s voice. “Aren’t you going to take a peek at them at least?”

“I don’t want any part of what you did to that innocent child.”

“Have you forgotten our pact?”

“I’ll follow through on my own terms.”

“Disobey us and we’ll pin the crime on you,” said the senator’s voice.

Ed slammed on the brakes at a red light. “I’ll stand by our deal. Just get these devils out my head.”

The voices reminded Ed of a swarm of insects. “Prove you’re worthy or remain our slave.”

Chapter 17: FBI

An hour later, Ed felt the migraine headache fade as he drove into the church parking lot and turned off his engine. He approached an old woman who was inching a walker up the ramp near the church entrance. Catching up with her as she entered the building, he leaned over the fountain of holy water. Hoping to gain favor with voices, he laughed at her trembling hand as she touched the liquid.

Her wrinkled face reminded him a tortoise he had seen in a commercial for the New Orleans zoo, so he decided that would be her name. Old Tortoise looked like she had just bit into sour fruit when she saw the tattoo on his face. She struggled to maneuver her walker down the long center-aisle rug toward the green light at the front left corner of the church.

“Oh, baby, shake those hips.”

Old tortoise turned. “Excuse me, young man, what did you say?”

“You don’t fool me. I know all about those Viagra and twister parties that go down in your nursing home.”

She pushed forward without showing any anger, as though she hadn’t heard him. Cutting ahead of her, he closed the confessional door in her face and sat on the chair facing Stephen. The voices cackled. Ed recalled Anthony’s suicide and regretted using cruelty to win popular approval, again.

Senator Walker’s voice spoke to Ed from above: “That was old Edna Brown. She deserved your insults. Last year, she had an argument with her husband before he had a stroke in their living room. She never told anyone that she went to use the rest room before she called the ambulance. In the back of her mind, she hoped he’d croak. He survived and takes all his meals through a tube. It’s sucking up all of their money. She feels ashamed and fears God kept him around to punish her for not rushing to the phone.”

“That’s a lie.” As Ed spoke aloud, he felt no concern that Stephen might consider him insane.

Ed heard laughter from the swarm of high-pitched voices. “Maybe we’ll have you rape and kill her next.”

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