Suffer The Children

By Laurie Klepinger

Beneath the ground in Santa Cruz, California, there lies the largest working cell of human trafficking in the world.
As a child, Alex Marin-Stuart was being brainwashed to become one of the killer elite for Thaddeus Cahill. Unable to break Alex’s strong will, yet not kill him outright, an attempt was made to erase the memory of the training. That memory is now returning in bits and pieces. It is imperative Alex regain that memory, not only for his own sake, but for the sake of thousands of vulnerable people, as he is privy to information that would provide the forensic evidence needed to expose this evil before all traces of the cell are demolished. More than 70 years ago a beautiful Mexican woman cast a curse upon the Thaddeus Cahill, her one-time lover’s vast estate, and his progeny. It would last until ‘the one of the blood’ would break the curse and bring the Cahills’ vast empire to its knees. Alex unknowingly holds the key to breaking the curse and finds himself obsessed with piecing together his memory, because he realizes there is something dark and evil that he must bring to the surface.
Mugsy is an enigmatic old man who helps in the search of anything that will aid Alex in his quest. He and his wife Evelyn are covertly lured into the depths of perversity by the old man's greedy family members, where there lays more danger than exists above ground.
Alex's wife Ev, and their best friend Florencio Catalan are undaunted by the powerful resistance they meet in aiding Alex in finding this evidence while keeping him safe from harm by the Cahills. But due to the fact that they all have loved ones who have fallen to their untimely disappearance or demise in the hands of the Cahills. They then join forces to assist Alex in his driven quest to expose the evil before all traces are demolished.
Survival, awakening, redemption and love renewed are the story of ‘Suffer the Children.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurie Klepinger
• Release date: Aug 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310793523

Book preview

Part One

A Presence dark invades the fair,

And gives the horses ample scare,

And boiling currents pound like drums,

When something wicked this way comes.

—Wm. Shakespeare, Macbeth

Chapter 1

Santa Cruz Mountains, Calif.

1934

That evening, the air was electric with anticipation. An ill-gendered wind coughed and spat in gusts. It came thick and fast, carrying the horse’s frenzied whinnies and snorts over the rolling hills and meadows that comprised the vast estate. The faint outline of a round moon was drawn between scudding clouds.

Evening had given way to night. The wind had subsided for the moment. Thaddeus Cahill, denizen of a vast and infamous empire, emerged from a two- sided door in the ground covered with sod and small bushes to camouflage its existence. He locked the heavy door behind him.

Thaddeus, one time genetic researcher, surgeon and vicious businessman now, due to a rapidly deteriorating mental capacity, was left with no greater abilities than a bit of creative surgery.

He patted a red, velvet box in one of his breast pockets. The velvet container held a necklace covered with bits of precious gems, at the center of which hung a small crucifix that he had just completed assembling. Thaddeus fisted his hand around the box for a moment.

In a forced hush, he said, Now, Margarita, my sweet witch, a token of my undying esteem…and a placation to that infernal goddess you serve.

He then bellowed for his protégé, Orville. The horses! Now!

In moments, the horses appeared, handled by a slight man with a shock of brown hair hanging over his forehead. The two men mounted and galloped through the sizeable compound, past many outbuildings and stables.

* * *

The night was awash with stars. The men pulled the horses to a stop to cool their sweat-laden bodies and dismounted to rest them for a moment.

The two eventually emerged from the blackened woodlet. The wind ceased. Crickets thrummed in time with the men’s heartbeats.

No one spoke.

In front of them, a thin wisp of smoke trailed from a stone chimney atop a sturdy wattle and dab cottage. The lunar essence bounced off its freshly whitewashed walls and picket fence that surrounded a carefully manicured front yard. Tiny, curtained windows held in check a golden light from within.

The small house stood adjacent to a larger redwood building, long ago fallen into disrepair. Neglected planks and broken glass panes were all that held the three-story, ramshackle structure aloft. A weed-filled yard and barbwire fence surrounded the darkened framework. Rusted tricycles and other neglected toys were haphazardly racked into heaps against the rough-hewn walls.

It had been many years since Orville’s last visit to this place. Then for a precious few minutes in the morning and afternoon, children dotted the landscape. Dressed in grey, homespun uniforms and under the ever-watchful eyes of adult handlers, they chattered quietly amongst themselves. The little ones were oblivious to the horrors awaiting them. Now, only a memory remained—a grainy tin-type, etched in a tonal scale from stark white to monastic black.

Lambs, those precious children were. Innocent lambs, being fattened for a short existence of living hell.’

What are you staring at, Orville? Certain things, some which the majority would call cruel, I believe one day will assist in conquering genetics. Bold words maybe, but I have already done it, he chortled. All will be set in motion in a short time.

Orville whispered, "But all the people who believed you were giving them a better life, especially the children…must they be a part of this obsessive…?

Obsessive? When they are saved by me, by smuggling them and their entire families onto my Ranch, they are grateful for the opportunity for a better life, albeit a short one.

The children are the most pliable, the most vulnerable. They unknowingly provide fodder for the greatest of all my achievements which will come to fruition very soon as I already said. Were you not listening?

Ahh yes, ‘Suffer the children to come unto me, Thaddeus rambled, his voice trailing through the spiky glass shards that remained in the building’s first floor’s windows. Suffer them. Suffer them all. The thousands die so that millions may live. An ugly growl rumbled in his throat.

"Who is kidding who? My’ business ventures’ will last as long as sexual obsessions, human organs and experimentations and other needs of any sort that involve flesh trading are to be had. It is a depression-proof business; always will be and the overpowering desires, the insatiable and varied lusts have made me one of the richest men in the world.

Orville blocked his need to vomit.

Keep in mind, the witch is off this property by morning! Thaddeus said, shocking Orville from his reminiscing...

Orville gathered the reins and tossed both pair around the picket fence that led to the tiny cottage and followed Thaddeus through the cottage gate and onto the porch.

As Thaddeus was about to knock, the great wooden door opened inward. The resinous scent of Sandalwood incense escaped from the cottage’s interior, curled around the two men, and clung to the woman whose statuesque form blocked the doorway. A wealth of raven hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. A voluminous cape covered her ample body. Small silver and gold bands twinkled from otherwise bare toes. Eyes charged with the suppressed power of molten lava, surveyed each man in turn then rested on Thaddeus.

Pulled by her gaze, but resisting each step, Thaddeus drew near.

Ignoring the beginning of his practiced preamble, Margarita kept her eyes locked on Thaddeus and snatched the velvet container he offered her, opened the box and let it fall to the porch. Fashioned from chips of precious gems; a crucifix at its center. She raised the necklace. A sneer crossed her full lips.

At what price this bauble? She hissed at Thaddeus. "Over how many bones of the innocent?

It is over!

Enough! Thaddeus barked impatiently.

Never! Margarita hissed, clutching the crucifix at her side. It will be enough when true justice has been fulfilled!

The stand-off broken, and with fists clenched and unable to respond, Thaddeus backed down the porch stairs and through the garden gate, pushing Orville ahead of him. Thaddeus swung into the saddle, pulled the reins taut and quieted the jittery animal with a pat to its withers. Backlit by the warmth of the cottage’s interior, and with a wave of her arm, Margarita directed her right index finger at Thaddeus.

A sudden flurry of wind pushed at the men.

It has only begun, Oh Surgeon of the Damned! She spat.

The deep timbre of her voice rose on the night breeze.

A curse be on you and your family and the evil on which you thrive. Yes. Back you go. Back to your Satan’s Keep; your fortress of torture and trading of flesh! Back to the hell where death reigns!" The door slammed shut between them.

Chapter 2

Inside the cottage, Margarita turned to prepare for the work she had to complete. She must hurry.

Come here, my child, she called softly. All is well.

Slight in stature, auburn hair in neat plaits, and dressed in a warm woolen jumper, a small girl approached, and fell into Margarita’s warm embrace. Margarita held her close then set her in a sturdy reed hamper that sat outside the circle.

"Shh now, my sweet," Margarita said, as she smoothed the child’s hair and closed the hamper.

Thou art the single of the babes I will be able to save, but the most important. For from thy loins shall come the seed of the one who shall break this evil reign. We must wait for one generation and a half for this to be."

A Stygian darkness enveloped the cottage as the moon’s light was extinguished by the earth’s ecliptic shadow. Flames appeared from within the urn at the circle’s center then died back to a gentle waver.

An urn at her feet hissed and puffed yellow smoke. Spreading her arms and closing her eyes, she loudly intoned a chant, and tied knots in a belt of hemp that hung around her waist belt. With each new knot, the air grew thicker. The light again twinkled, flared and once again returned to a pulsing glow. Margarita continued.

The air grew alive with tiny sparks.

After intoning a forceful chant she brushed her lips across the crucifix, and held it within the urn’s quivering heat. A silver dagger lay beside the urn. Margarita took the knife and wrapped the necklace around it. The form of an orange snake appeared in the flames. Apart from the fire’s pulsation, it glistened and undulated with a life of its own. Margarita held fast the dagger.

Behold! I have been with thee from the beginning, and I await thee now. So mote it be.

The snake’s form slithered around Margarita’s hand then—vanished—swallowed by the talisman she held.

She carried the necklace to the hamper and opened it. She draped the warm crucifix around the little girl’s neck.

Margarita drew the knife’s blade across her lips. Her rich laughter echoed against the child’s ears.

"The leaves of memory seemed to make a mournful rustle in the dark.’

—Longfellow

Chapter 3

Alex and Ev’s farmhouse, Santa Cruz, California

Before dawn. Present day

Unable to rest, Alex rose slowly from the bed he shared with his wife, Ev, hoping not to disturb her sleep.

Though desperate to communicate with her, his own mind reeled in turmoil the energy required to form comforting words stuck in his throat.

For a precious few moments, he contemplated the gulf that was widening between them. Though likely the most important, he shook his head slowly in resignation to the fact that this one piece of the jig-saw puzzle that made up his life, of late, must wait to be played. With a sigh, he realized that again, the night would bring little rest for either of them.

A wave of vertigo washed over him. Clinging to the wall, he hung his head while the wild cries of phantom children pierced his ears and swept through his tormented skull. In an instant it was gone, leaving him momentarily unable to walk on his own.

Easy does it. One step at a time, and all that crap, he breathed. Don’t give in now.

He reached the bathroom. The moon’s shadows from black to grey teased through the thin transom window above the shower. He grabbed the cold porcelain of the sink and cast a glance at the toilet alongside it.

He switched on the dim light, stared at his hands, then his own ragged reflection. Dark circles under his eyes did not minimize his luminous brown eyes that matched his shock of hair. A lean, muscular body, even with all the hell of late, didn’t detract from his ruggedly handsome face. The only six-pack he carried these days was around his waist.

The sole piece of jewelry he wore was a small crucifix encrusted with gem stones. It sparkled and reflected the barest amount of light. He was unaware from where it came, but was never without it.

His breath misted the glass and fogged his features. The gnome of frustration was hot on his heels. With a clenched fist, he punched the top of the wood-framed mirror. A tiny crack appeared and spidered down the glass, bisecting his face. Tracing the crack with a finger, he got the eerie feeling he was touching his skin on the other side of the glass.

Resolute, he opened the medicine cabinet above the sink where row upon row of orange plastic prescription bottles lined the cabinet’s interior. Pharmacy from hell, he quipped. "We have capsules for anxiety and seizures. Tablets for depression, mania and on it goes. Bullshit! I’ve been easing off them without telling anyone. Just one more lie in the pot!

A couple of well-placed swoops from his left hand landed them in the sink, where each bottle was uncapped; their offending contents unceremoniously dumped into the toilet and flushed. The multi-colored pills spread in a whirlpool at the commode’s bottom

Looks like Walt Disney threw up. Burt Reynolds. ‘The End’. Good flick. He stowed the empties under the sink in the trash and reached to the back of the second shelf, behind the 1st. aid kit and retrieved full flask of liquor. Into the toilet went the entire bottle. The empty went into the trash near the toilet. He sluiced cold water on his face and spat the remainder onto the mirror, distorting his face even more.

"Hey, buddy. Get used to the water, it’s the highest proof you’re getting’ from now on!

With one last furtive glance at the image in front of him, he turned off the light and made his way through the kitchen, avoided the screaming cracks in the linoleum and headed past the screen door into the dark.

Outside, light from the full moon bathed his body in its lambent glow, and burned everything around him in a surreal glow. It appeared to set him apart from all the world, an alien in his own land. Or was it his land?—a sole heir, or—sole survivor. Everything around him burned with an eerie incandescence. He wiped his eyes with trembling fingers and dared to open them again, prepared to shout down anything or anyone that may be waiting in its lair, waiting to strike.

Nothing. Just the moon smiling at him. Or was it a sneer? The feeling of teetering on the brink of an abyss passed, but not that of being watched.

Right! There’s some weirdo behind every tree in this orchard, he chided himself. There’s some hobgoblin at the corner of the house, ready to gouge at me as I go by. Sounds logical! The high timbre of his voice belied the angst behind the words.

A flutter of air passed his ears…….’don’t you leave me here with these pussies…. and Freddie…’ What the bloody hell?" Tiny hairs along the nape of his neck stood at attention. Air swooshed by him, bringing with it the spectral plea of screaming children.

That was not any withdrawal. Freddie who? And that voice, I know that voice."

Intertwined with the screams and guttural sounds, he heard a woman’s lovely voice. She was singing a lullaby. Children’s dark cries were unabated by the music, however the music was replaced by rutting sounds that turned to abject fear and loathing.

Panting, he increased his pace toward their garage which was, separate from the house. Peering over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse the rotating lights high above Bonnie Doon, a neighboring town hid in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Its beacon pulsed, a warning to low- flying planes. Alex was equally aware of the concrete walls surrounding the huge compound and how they seemed to absorb rather than reflect the moonlight. The fortress always filled him with both dread and fascination.

That red light’s not pulsing just to keep away planes. It’s like the whole Cahill vast estate. What is it…about 1 900 acres? That place can be likened to some black hole. You could be sucked in and disappear forever. Christ only knows what goes on behind those walls. Off limits to all," Alex chuffed, straightening to his full six-foot three height in with an air of defiance.

It doesn’t matter a damn. I know you poor souls and your handlers live there, he breathed through half-bared teeth. "Somewhere in this short-circuited brain of mine, I know soon you will be set free. I don’t know how or by whom, but I know in my gut it will be soon.

Who the fuck’s brilliant idea was it to live up against this gate to Hell? Why, our best friend Dr. Florencio Catalan’s, of course. Did he suggest we live here because it’s a lovely spot? A place to bring back my memory, or does he have his own agenda? Do Ev and Florencio think time here will trigger some trace of memory? Focal Retrograde Amnesia? Some moniker and piece of crap that is!

And, this damn orchard where so much work for crops that are mediocre at best. It doesn’t make a bit of sense.

"Old Thaddeus Cahill was a real-life feudal lord, and that nephew of his, Brash, may be a wizard at banking and other business scams, and only heaven knows what else, but neither of them knew nor knows squat about farming, even with an endless ocean of money, power and a world full of high-tech shit available to them.

"Makes me think of experiments gone awry; while that mammoth orchard over the mountains flourishes. It’s the pride of the nation. Never one ounce of care, not even water. Those trees vie with some of the redwoods for height and girth. Ah, what the hell. None of my business…or is it? Bullshit!

The scrawny trees around him appeared to slither toward him, shrouded, evil. He blinked and the spell broke like a shattered pane of glass. He exhaled the caged air in his lungs to clear the web of mystery that had formed in front of his eyes and in his tired head. Riding on the sound of tinkling glass, words from Bruce Willis in 12 Monkeys passed his ears. He followed Bruce’s quote:

The movie doesn’t change. You change. Every time you see it, you see something new.

‘Yeah, Bruce. I’m with you on that one. One day the ‘something new’ will be happier. It has to."

A precursor of dawn, the still air became enlivened by an offshore sea breeze. Mixed with a whiff of brine, heady perfume from the fruit-laden orchard filled Alex’s nostrils. At another time the odor would be sweet.

Sounds of early morning traffic yawned by in the distance. The spell broke like a shattered pane of glass. Caged air escaped Alex’s lungs with a long whistle as he jogged along. He shook his head to clear the web of mystery that had formed in front of him.

It was time for a change of scenery.

Chapter 4

Moments later

He passed the house, entered the garage through the side door, and switched on the light. Bright red paint and shiny chrome winked back at him from the ’64 Mustang he had been restoring. Snapshots of him, Ev and Florencio during happier times smiled down from a bulletin board above the workbench that lay along one wall. A long computer printout hung above it. Another one of Florencio’s touches. It read: Si fractum non sit, noli is reficere’.

If it works, don’t fix it’. It is broke, and ‘doctor fix it’ is on the way."

His gaze drifted back to the automobile.

Evenin’ LET-C, he mused.

He had named his prize after a line from an old children’s book, one he kept within his journals.

"You, my beauty, are something real I can fix. Grazing his fingers ever so lightly over the car’s hood he said, Front wheel mount could use some looking at. He grabbed a flashlight from the workbench, lay on his back and edged under the car. Not a drop of oil or grease. Good job."

Something pushed his ankle was always amazed at how Ev could make even everyday words sound like a sonata. He scooted out from under the car to be met by her soft, graceful fingers handing him a warm cup of herbal tea.

Just what the doctor ordered, he said, kissing her wrist as he took the cup.

Thanks, babe, he said, noisily taking a long draught from the mug.

What are you doing up? You need your rest.

Alex is up, everyone’s up, she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Alex sighed in resignation, sipped his tea, and continued his umpteenth overview of LET-C.

A tense silence hung in the air.

Statuesque at five feet nine inches, golden curls falling over emerald eyes; even in Alex’s tattered robe, she looked like she just stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine. She laced the ties of the robe around her slightly bulging tummy. You’d think at seven months, I’d be big as a house, she mused. At the pace our lives have been going of late, sometimes it’s difficult to remember that I am pregnant.

She turned slightly so as to look at Alex when she spoke.

"This may be a redundant question, Alex, but why are the Cahills and their minions not taking any interest in the current border situation with trafficking? They don’t seem to be the least interested.

Those people don’t pay for anything; they receive it, by the tons. Besides the current crisis is too much in the news. They’re kind cannot risk exposure of any kind. They’re roaches who scatter from the light

Alex smiled when he answered. "Think of it this way, babe; imagine one mustard seed. Now imagine all the sand on the beach…in Manhattan Beach alone. That is a fraction of their empire.

"The richest people in the world, own the world. Cahill’s dynasty…and all the other clandestine operations go on in the darkness and underground…very underground. It’s a story for another time. Evvy. I’m worn out.

Just one more thing, Ev paused before asking.

She surveyed Alex with anything but the most casual of glances. All the while her knuckles whitened against balled fists that she kept hidden behind the terry robe. Start out easy, she murmured to herself as she loosed her right hand to pick up the nearest invoice. You really going through with this Turbo for LET-C?

Alex straightened from his inspection.

Delivery’s due this weekend. I’m going to drop her off at the garage today.

He set his empty cup on a ledge where Ev kept a tool belt filled with small gardening tools. He picked up a soft chamois that dangled from a hook next to the gardening equipment.

LET-C sat between them. But it may as well have been an ocean…a bright Red Sea waiting to be parted. Though not another woman, Alex treated the car like a mistress, a fragile, expensive possession. Ev shrugged slightly. In her perceived defense, she asked,

Why such a honkin’ big engine for such a little thing?

Alex moved around the car, touching her here and there with the chamois. She can handle it. She’s going to be reborn. You know. Mary Shelley. Frankenstein. Mad scientist."

He flashed his dark eyes at Ev. "After all, it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?"

Right. Ev smiled, in spite of the clenched fist. Bad time tonight?"

The dreams, memory, whatever. They’re getting more intense. Alex replied, his gaze still on Ev.

Want to talk about it? Ev coaxed.

Nope. They’re better left in Fred Kreuger’s world.

Cruel world that. Ev said.

Mirrors this one, on a lot of levels.