SAC Time

By R.D. Sexton

In Los Angeles, California, three people ritualistically murder Marjorie Crossman’s husband and they aren’t talking. Fearing that Marjorie might be next, twin sister Claudia Thompson, a Houston, Texas police officer, wants Marjorie to quit her teaching job at Inglewood High School and move back home to Texas. But Marjorie is determined to see her husband’s killers brought to justice. A string of teenage suicides brings her into contact with a serial rapist who believes his son was killed by classmates and they might be connected to the death of Marjorie’s husband.

Twelve-hundred miles away, Houston, Texas private investigator Gordan Macbeth has his own problems. A new client wants him to find out why her son committed suicide during class at Charterwood High School. Macbeth’s quest to solve the case and his developing relationship with teacher Angela Howard further complicates his dysfunctional lifestyle. Macbeth’s friend, a Harris County Sheriff’s Department detective, worries that Gordon’s unusual case might come back to haunt them both.

Although cult worship in all its forms is historical fact, political correctness prevents exposure of its worst elements. R.D. Sexton’s SAC Time weaves a tale of cult related horror, how the main characters are affected, and how they respond. Tension-filled dialogue, troubled characters, and a complex villain drive the reader towards a twisted ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.D. Sexton
• Release date: Dec 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311154491

R.D. Sexton

R.D. Sexton is a former U.S. Marine and Vietnam War veteran. He lives in Texas with his wife where he retired as a Certified Public Accountant. He holds the following degrees: Bachelor of Business Administration (Accounting) and Bachelor of Theology.

Book preview

LOS ANGELES

"Those that are evil have not only the good against them, but also the bad."

—Bischer

I see the bad moon arising.

I see trouble on the way.

I see earthquakes and lightin’.

I see bad times today.

Don’t go around tonight,

Well, it’s bound to take your life,

There’s a bad moon on the rise.

—Bad Moon Rising

Creedence Clearwater Revival

Music & Lyrics: J.C. Fogerty

Chapter 1

A golden California sun burned the remains of an early morning frost while spears of light cut arcs through shadows beneath the overpass.

The chill remained.

Three boys stood in the cool shadows with no warmth in them. Something glowed against the darkness.

Tommy Boggs flashed a grin at Glen Banner when Glen passed him the joint for another hit. Tommy's teeth were already yellowed and one of the top, front teeth was broken—a gift from his old man, one of many, but one of the few that showed. The son-of-a-bitch was good, real good, when it came to not leaving any marks. Tommy supposed it was the excellent medical training that prepared the good doctor to accomplish such things.

He leaned back against the scarred concrete underpass support and casually braced the sole of his sneaker against it. He sucked hard on the rapidly fading weed. With his eyes closed, he exhaled slowly and drew the sweet smoke back through his pitted nose. Suddenly his ears turned to the car noise overhead.

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

The sound pulsed in rhythm, became a cadence inside his head.

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

Mike Dancer shifted back and forth from one foot to the other like he might have to use the bathroom. He cut his eyes at Boggs.

Hurry up shitbird! You're hoggin' it!

Boggs' eyes snapped open and the bright daylight appeared sharper against the shadows. He started to scream something at Dancer—Tommy hated to be called shitbird. He hated it worse than anything. His old man, the friggin' good doctor, a righteous bastard if he'd ever known one, frequently called him that the few times he'd ever come home from his ever-so-important work—but suddenly, things started to look better, clearer, much more crisp. He liked how the weed made him feel. He blew the secondary smoke out and smiled at Dancer. Nothing anyone could say or do would bother him. Not now, not ever. He started laughing.

Feelin' good, huh? Banner said. That's the name of the game, Tommy boy. Banner reached back in his hip pocket and fished for his straight razor. The equalizer, he called it. When he found it, he methodically opened and closed it, mesmerized by the flashes of light dancing off the chrome blade. Twice to test its sharpness he ran his thumb a perpendicular stroke across the blade.

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

Think we’ll ever get outa SAC? Boggs said.

Why would we wanna do that, dumbass, Dancer said. Miz Crossman is bitchin’. I’d do anything to stay in SAC just to be close to her fine body.

"(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

She’s a teacher, so what difference does it make? Boggs said.

Yeah? Well she’s a hot teacher and I’d like to get her down and do it to her, Dancer said. He punched Boggs on the shoulder. Give me that damned weed.

Keep your pants on, Dance, Boggs said in a mellow tone. He sucked again and passed the joint to Banner. Dancer eyed Banner.

Man, hurry it up! I need it!

Banner ignored him but Boggs said, Just a sec, Dance, just a sec, boy-o. You'll get it back in just a sec.

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

I still don't believe we actually watched them skin that kid alive, Boggs said, shaking his head. Man, his screams were bitchin'!

Banner grinned. Yeah. The screaming gave me a boner. Man, they oughta let us join, I mean, since we got to watch and all. He passed the weed to Dancer and Mike sucked in hard. His eyes started to redden from the powerful smoke.

Can't, Dancer remarked, you know the rules. You gotta kill on your own first and bring 'em the proof. He absently toyed with the pentagram strung on the dull, steel chain around his neck. It made him feel powerful, a part of something important, a sensation of belonging. Banner slugged him in the arm.

Let's have some fun at Marva Turner's party tomorrow night! Banner's cold, green eyes laughed and he grinned an insane snarl.

Boggs cut his eyes at Banner. Whatcha' wanta' do? He reverently stroked the scab over the new tattoo on his upper arm. Framed beneath the red and blue colored artwork were the words:

Satan Is God

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

I told Marva to invite that nurd-brain, Jimmy Krausky.

Boggs scowled. Why'd you wanna' do that? Shit, that little turd will just screw things up. Besides, I heard his old man's crazy. His fingernail caught on the edge of the tattoo scar and he winced at the sudden pain. He frowned at a shimmering drop of blood that oozed from beneath the scab.

Ya don't understand, fart face! Banner growled.

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

I wanna have some fun with Krausky, Banner said, grinning at Boggs. Screw his old man! His old man doesn't know crazy, does he? He arched back one of his high-top Keds and kicked at a fist-sized lump of concrete. The lump smacked against a piling and shattered pieces splashed helplessly into the murky water.

How? Dancer asked dreamily. He blew the numbing smoke back through his nose.

I got some real strong stuff at home. Sneaked it from my big brother.

(Rhumpty-rump, rhumpty-rump)

What kind of stuff? Boggs asked.

LSD.

Dancer smiled with hollow eyes and he held the joint above his head, squinting at it. Man, that's heavy stuff all right. How we gonna get Krausky to take it?

Banner slapped him on the arm. Shit! The little turd won't know he's gettin' it. We'll put it in whatever Marva has to drink. He spit on the ground and laughed.

Boggs' eyes widened. Yeah, but his old man's an ex-con. He might— Banner cut him off.

Screw his old man! The bastard's too old to do anything. He won't screw with us. Not more than once, anyway. He laughed again and sounded like a hyena.

Boggs took another drag off the weed and started to feel good again. The numbness, the clarity was almost sexual. His eyes glassed over. They began to reflect an animal hardness no kid of fourteen should have. He broke out in laughter and Dancer joined in.

At that precise moment a few miles away, Marjorie Crossman felt that strange dread hit her again but shrugged it off. She parked her car on the crowded Inglewood High School campus and jumped out with her briefcase. She was late and her class was probably waiting for her out in the hall.

* * * *

At seven that evening, kids started to migrate to Marva's. Early that morning, her parents left for a weekend gambling junket at a Tahoe casino and Marva had their suburban Los Angeles apartment all to herself. It was party time.

Hard rock music reverberated off the shaded windows and you could feel the base cadence projected out beyond the pool. If you looked close at the blue-green water, you could see the sound make small ripples on it. One of the tenants, fed up with the noise, stomped away from the heated pool and returned to his apartment muttering under his breath. He glanced back in time to see the three boys walk up to the Turner apartment.

Hi Glen, Tommy, Mike! Marva's blue eyes beamed deviously at them when she opened the door. Come on in you guys. Party started an hour ago!

They followed her inside through a crowd of teenagers gyrating to the hypnotic beat of an old classic by Judas Priest. A haze of sweet smoke mingled with the smell of spilled beer in the dim light of undulating bodies. They worked their way over to the beer coolers stacked carelessly on the dining room table.

Banner popped a beer top and guzzled from the can. Cold beer ran down his chin and he mopped it with his sleeve. He swallowed hard and glanced around the room. His eyes locked on Jimmy Krausky seated on the end of a couch. He grinned and slit his eyes at Boggs and Dancer. He jerked his head toward Krausky.

There's the little shit.

They grinned back and Banner reached back and smoothed the greasy stub of ponytail over the collar of his black leather jacket.

* * * *

Jimmy Krausky pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his thin nose and stuffed another wad of chips in his mouth. He chewed slowly, rhythmically. He looked uncomfortable in the crowded room of older kids. The music was loud. His chest started to rise and fall rapidly, as if fighting for air because he was trapped in a box recently buried in the ground. His hands dropped to the edge of the couch, palms down and he started to push himself up, probably to leave Marva's party. Maybe call his father to come get him.

He glanced down at his neatly ironed blue and yellow sport shirt and sharply creased blue cotton slacks, then back at others standing around the room. They wore faded jeans, wrinkled shirts, shoes without socks. Jimmy stood out like a piece of gold in the middle of a pile of cow manure. He leaned back and tucked his highly polished penny loafers back under the couch. He thought about his quiet room full of books at home. His room was safe, unchallenging. He squinted his eyes shut and wished himself home. When his eyes snapped open, he realized he was still at Marva’s.

He wondered why Marva had invited him. He knew his reputation. He'd heard them refer to him as nurd-brain and four-eyes often enough.

My first party, he thought. Must be some kind of omen—a chance to break out of my lonely cocoon. Resolve—that’s it. I’m going to turn over a new leaf. Yeah, that's what I’m gonna do. Got to toughen up! Be one of the guys!

Hey, Krausky! How's the party, man? Banner grinned and swigged from his can.

Krausky jerked up his head and recognized Banner. For a minute he thought there was a mistake but Banner held his gaze. Glen was in tenth grade a year ahead of him. He and the other two had, at times, made Krausky's life a living hell. Banner grinned again and Jimmy noticed Boggs and Dancer were grinning too.

Uh, great. The party's great. He self-consciously smiled back at them and pushed his glasses back up again. He tensed. He was ready for whatever horrible thing was about to happen. A stray beam of light ricocheted off Jimmy's thick glasses and hit Boggs in one eye, making him wince. Jimmy noticed and he tightened.

All right! Man, sure glad you could come, Banner said, strolling toward him. I told Marva she should invite you.

He slapped Krausky on the shoulder and Jimmy wasn't sure how to react. He waited for the punch line. They’re probably getting ready to stuff my head in the commode or something even more awful, he thought. When nothing happened, he stole a look at the other two and their nods confirmed Banner wasn't kidding around. He was mystified why they'd want him at the party. He couldn't believe his luck. Maybe I’m starting to fit in, he thought. Finally!

Say, Krausky. You want a beer? Banner's eyes had a mysterious twinkle.

Jimmy flushed. Well, I'm not suppose to—

Ah come on, Jimbo! Get with it man. Have a beer! Boggs encouraged. He reached over and good naturedly slapped Jimmy on the shoulder.

Well, okay. I guess so. He started to get up but Banner shoved him back down.

Sit tight, Jimbo. I'll get it for you!

Banner left Boggs and Dancer to entertain Jimmy while he went for the beer. They shifted between Krausky and the beer cooler so he couldn't see Banner doctor his beer with the LSD. A foot kicked Jimmy and he jerked his head to the left. His face reddened at the sight of a young couple sprawled on the couch beside him. Her dress was hiked up and the boy's bare buttocks was exposed. He quickly averted his eyes. Minutes later, Banner returned and shoved a foaming glass of beer toward him.

Here ya' go Jimbo. Drink up, my man! Banner winked at him. Jimmy studied the forbidden drink, then put the glass to his lips and began to swallow the strong, foamy, slightly bitter yellow brew. He coughed when he swallowed but attempted to smile at his three new friends. Banner looked at Boggs and Dancer, then back at Jimmy.

I wanna make a toast to Jimbo. To Jimbo Krausky, our newly found buddy! The trio clicked their beer cans against Jimmy's glass, then they chugged and Jimmy followed with another hard swallow.

Fifteen minutes later Jimmy Krausky, like a new butterfly, emerged from his cocoon. His neck veins stood out as he strained to sing along with Judas Priest. Moments later, he rocked back and forth and hopped from one foot to the other, dancing in an offbeat rhythm to the music. He felt as light as a feather. He turned in a circle and his eyes beheld the wonders of a room filled with colored lights. Laughter echoed in his head and his mind confirmed he was suddenly older, more mature. He felt bigger. He felt a hand on his arm.

Let's go, Jimbo, he heard Banner tell him. The voice seemed deep, resonate and commanding. It came to him through a tunnel of bright lights and he heard himself laugh into an echo chamber.

Where we going? he asked dreamily while they steered him, like a bumper car, through the maze of dancing bodies. Now his voice sounded deep and resonate. Cool! He repeated the question several times for effect.

For a ride! someone said.

Not far away, Marjorie Crossman was preparing dinner for her husband. Cal would be home soon and she'd worked most of the afternoon to prepare their anniversary meal.

* * * *

He sat in the backseat of the Camaro and felt Boggs shove a fresh can of beer into his hand. Suddenly the car lurched and the rear tires squealed against the pavement. Behind Jimmy, the stereo blared deep sounds in a heavy metal rhythm while the car raced down the Santa Monica freeway.

Jimmy's eyes blinked slowly at the freeway lights flashing against his face like strobe lights. He turned the can back and sucked on it. Moments later, his eyes recognized the interstate 405 north sign and his brain started to spin.

Where we going? He wondered if he'd actually spoken the words or whether he'd just thought them. He pondered the detached sound of his own voice. He wondered if he could now communicate without speaking.

For a ride, man! For a ride! Banner yelled from the driver's seat, his voice high pitched and demonic.

Minutes later Jimmy needed to pee. He also thought he might need to vomit. Maybe he should say something. Maybe he should just fly out the window. He felt like he might be able to do that. He remembered riding in the car with his father and hanging his hand out the window. On long trips, he liked to do that. The wind would blow his hand up and it felt like he imagined an airplane might feel if it could. Now he felt like he could be an airplane. He was, after all, invincible. He heard himself speak again.

I need to take a pee. He heard laughter in the kaleidoscope of light that surrounded him. As the car skidded to a stop, he laughed back.

Get out and pee, turd face!

He felt like he'd floated out of the car. When he started to walk toward the pavement, he imagined a face that looked like a turd and he screamed in laughter. Lights flashed by on the concrete and his mind returned to airplanes.

He imagined he was an airplane turning onto the runway to take off. When he walked onto the runway, he unzipped his pants and began to pee. He held his arms out like wings and began to run. He heard engines scream and tires squeal and he visualized planes landing close by. He ignored the blast of a tractor trailer horn behind him and he instantly felt something—something like a big pillow—hit him from behind.

There was a momentary sensation of the freedom of flight, flight into a spiraling tunnel of white light, then shadows. Later, the truck driver would swear the boy still had his arms out like wings when his crushed body catapulted into a full moon.

Chapter 2

Detective Claudia Thompson sat down on the couch in her den, poured wine into her glass, then leaned back. As she sipped the sweet liquid, her eyes fell on her U.S. Army certificates and awards hanging on the wall over the TV. Captain Claudia Thompson, they read.

She shook her head and sipped her wine again. Eight years she’d spent in the Army as a Ranger after college at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, Texas. Five feet-two inches tall, one-hundred-two pounds wet, the Army thought she couldn’t make it. Of course, they didn’t know of what she was really capable and they sure wouldn’t recognize her now. Not since she dyed her formerly very blond hair a rich brown. There was nothing she couldn’t do when she put her mind to it. Nothing.

She volunteered for service in Serbia two years before she decided to go into the reserves. When she arrived in Serbia, some of the male soldiers didn’t much like taking orders from a woman. Particularly a beautiful, young woman. But they got over it when they realized that she wouldn’t ask them to do anything she wouldn’t do herself.

And then she became a cop with the Houston Police Department. That decision really upset her monozygotic twin sister, Marjorie, although it didn’t much surprise her. Marjorie was passive. She was not. Although they were identical right down to their DNA, their personalities and interests differed completely. While growing up, they loved to play tricks on their parents and friends by switching their behavior and mannerisms. Although her sister loved playing the bad girl, Marjorie would never make it in the military or as a cop.

In its own way, police work was as much of a challenge as what she’d faced in the Army. But it was also very different. The military trained you to do two things - destroy property and kill people. Cop work focused on seizing property and arresting people, although she had to admit that there was a growing number of cops who drooled at the thought of blowing someone away. Her job, undercover narcotics, was exciting and kept her mind busy. The job used to make her feel like she was doing something worthwhile until she got the uncomfortable feeling that: (1) somehow the federal powers-that-be didn’t really want the drug problem to be over, and (2) they probably should legalize drugs and the damned problem would just disappear. That’s one suggestion she didn’t dare even breath around other HPD cops.

She punched the TV on and began to flip through the cable network channels. About the time she started to get into a movie the phone rang.

Hello?

This is Doug Freeman, Detective Thompson. I wanted to let you know we arrested those teenagers you tipped us on.

Any problems?

Naw. Piece of cake. Caught them out at the cemetery on Interstate 10. Little bastards were about to cut up some poor animals in their freekin’ satanic sacrifices.

God Almighty, she said. What’s happening to this country?

Don’t have a clue but it’s not good.

Thanks, Doug. See you tomorrow.

She cradled the phone and leaned back on the couch. Like it or not, America is changing, she thought. When I was a child, there were rules laid down by parents, schools and others in authority and most people followed them without question. They understood that society can’t function unless the majority