Crimson Death

By Rosemary Carr

Father Anthony discovers his undead grandson, James, now an excommunicated monk has turned his back not only on his faith, but also on those he once loved. Neither James’s adopted undead parents, grandparents, or his aunt or uncle can figure out how a once sweet little boy could have grown up to be a cold-blooded killer.

James summons an Incubus and Succubus couple to cause trouble in and around his town of Vandenberg, Ill., when another evil rears it's ugly head, hell bent on getting revenge. Can the killer or killers be caught? And can a cure for the new virus that sweeps through their undead communities be found in time or will it be too late? Crimson Death is a sequel to Abide with Me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosemary Carr
• Release date: Nov 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310401220

Rosemary Carr

Loves to write, cook, exercise, and read.

Book preview

Crimson Death

Sequel to Abide with Me

by Rosemary Carr

Acknowledgements:

For family and friends, a sincere heart felt ‘thank you!’ for all your support, love, patience and kind words.

© 2015 Crimson Death by Rosemary Carr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN # 9781310401220

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Chapter 1

The sheriff’s office was located a few blocks from downtown, on the edge of an upscale area. In summer, the neighborhood was elegantly landscaped, with verdant growth and well-maintained hedges. Now, denuded trees swayed in the chill autumn wind, their branches clattering and tapping against each other. A fat harvest moon hung in the sky amid scudding black clouds. Wait here, Anthony, please, Vernon told his chauffeur.

When Vernon opened the glass front door of the facility, he found Sheriff Jimmy waiting for him in the lobby. Thank you for coming. He shook Vernon’s hand and said, Let’s step into my office where we can talk.

Once they were seated, the sheriff gave Vernon more details. As I told you in my phone call, we’re up against something unusual at the convent.

Vernon folded his hands in his lap and gazed at Sheriff Jimmy with guarded curiosity. What’s going on?

Not just your typical abuse, Mr. Hughes, but there’ve been numerous reports coming out of St. Abigail’s of mistreatment and torture of the six nuns living there. Sheriff Jimmy slid a thick file across his desk.

Who made these reports?

Passersby, mostly. Let’s just say sounds have been heard. But, no one on the inside will corroborate any of the allegations. In fact, it’s been difficult to obtain any cooperation.

Have you talked to the nuns themselves?

We’ve tried. I think they’re too scared to tell the truth. The Mother Superior isn’t exactly helpful either. Every officer I’ve sent to the convent has come back empty-handed. After the initial complaints, witnesses either can’t be found or they recant their stories. I don’t know why. He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms. You know me; I’m a level-headed man. But, I hate that part of town. There’s a dark feel about it, and I’m not just talking about the crime rate. The ground is sour with evil. That old building sends chills crawling down my spine. He leaned forward, eyes earnest. What I’m hoping you can do is visit the place, see what your senses tell you. See if you can get anyone there to open up to you. I need something to go on or my efforts just look like pure police harassment.

Vernon opened the folder and withdrew the stapled pages. To the undead lawyer it looked like a simple case of having the convent closed for building code violations if allegations of abuse, torture and mistreatment of the nuns could not be proved.

I only called you in because you’re the best chance these women have. I know you can handle it. Sheriff Jimmy gazed at his friend. Well? Can we count on you?

Vernon straightened, his composure casual, a deep crease of worry formed between his brows. Yes, absolutely, but typically, I deal with estates, wills and trusts. I think, Sheriff, you need...

We want to be certain these allegations are true and you’re just the man who can smooth-talk his way in.

I can try, but Sheriff, wouldn’t it be easier to obtain a search warrant and raid the place?

I don’t want to make myself look like an idiot if these allegations turn out to be false. I need some evidence to present to the judge. He’s not an easy man to deal with under the best of circumstances. Besides, there’s a time and place for everything. I know your chauffeur, Father Anthony, has a lot of clout. Perhaps he has connections.

I don’t personally want him involved in this, but will need his assistance. Vernon handed off the file and plucked his black briefcase off the floor. Standing, Vernon donned his black fedora and walked out of the sheriff’s office.

St. Abigail’s convent, Anthony. Vernon folded his tall frame into the car. As they traveled through the quiet streets, he filled his chauffeur in on what he’d learned from Sheriff Jimmy. Anthony drove his employer to the convent. The drive was surprisingly uneventful and peaceful—almost too quiet. Anthony pushed up the brim of his chauffeur cap; his black gloved hands gripping the steering wheel. The convent was located in a very rundown portion of Vandenberg, an area rife with regular shootings, stabbings, muggings, and thefts. A few working streetlights stove vainly to pierce the shadows. As the car drew closer to their destination, the surroundings grew more dismal. Anthony’s eyes drifted from the road to the dark sidewalks strewn with rubbish, lined with closed storefronts that were boarded up and scarred by graffiti. Contorted shapes moved and vanished like cloaked specters.

I’ve never liked this place, Anthony confided to his employer. I’m uneasy.

I concur, Vernon murmured, deep in thought.

Anybody who lived in or around Vandenberg long enough avoided the convent like a plague. Some, however, weren’t fortunate enough to learn of its dark, sadistic past before it was too late. And that’s what Vernon was hoping for—that he wasn’t too late.

Anthony circled the block and pulled smoothly to the curb in front. He cut the engine, stepped out, and rounded the Jaguar to open the door. Vernon stepped out. The hem of his long black trench coat swept curb and concrete, scattering dead leaves and debris.

Anthony and Vernon stood beside each other amidst the desolation. Their pale features were defined in the dim glow of the streetlight. Anthony closed the door, and proceeded to return to the warm confines behind the wheel, when his employer snagged him by the arm. Lock it and come with me.

Shouldn’t I stay behind to make sure nobody steals off with your wheels or slashes the tires?

We’ll have to risk it. I need you to use your influence to get me in. Vernon gestured to his chauffeur’s cleric attire.

I understand. Anthony removed his chauffeur’s cap. Pulling double duty as his boss’s personal chauffeur and being spiritually available at a moment’s notice presented challenges at times. Among the dilapidated buildings that lined the street huddled a lone establishment still open for business: a vampire-owned and operated blood bank. A neon red and blue sign jutted over the entrance, its lure almost too irresistible. Anthony felt his fangs emerging. He had left the house without a bite and didn’t receive anything when he started his shift. This night was busy crazy.

Vernon sympathized with Anthony. They could both use a drink after this—perhaps from a living, willing donor. Vernon’s nightclub was crawling with mortals, some even willing to barter their blood—for the right price, of course. It was that type of risky behavior Anthony usually refrained from. Vernon put a hand on Anthony’s arm. Perhaps later.

He turned his attention to the task at hand. Behind a tall wrought iron fence topped with deadly spikes, St. Abigail’s loomed over them like a crouched beast, its sinister edifices stark and foreboding. Vernon pushed through the gate. The hinges protested, emitting a long groan. Vernon wiped the rust from his gloved hand on his trench coat.

Sir, I have a bad feeling in my gut. Anthony’s dark eyes slid up the hulk’s imposing façade, gazing at the towering two-story building as though it were, in and of itself, the very dark thing nightmares are made of. Frozen in place, he clutched the visor of his chauffeur’s cap with such might that he felt the stiff material snap. We must turn around. We must leave here.

Vernon stopped and looked over his shoulder. Anthony stared straight at the building. His eyes focused on the stone statues on either side of the wide concrete steps. Perhaps it was some odd trick of the weak light, but the stairs appeared unnaturally steep, like a staggering uphill climb. They were divided by a single rusty hand rail running straight down the middle of their long length.

Vernon urged, Father Anthony, come on. This won’t take but fifteen minutes, at the very most.

Anthony forced his limbs to cooperate. He reached the steps and placed a hand on the railing. It wobbled and then collapsed like toppled dominoes. Anthony turned loose the small portion in his grip. The heavy iron pipe rolled down and came to a stop at the base of the stairs.

You don’t know your own strength. Vernon laughed quietly.

Anthony was more careful where he stepped as he and his employer ascended. The most striking feature Anthony noticed was the behemoth entrance. Up close he could see the double doors were cast iron with a small peephole for viewing. The heavy door knocker was rusted; its large o-ring appeared frozen. Applying some force, Vernon lifted the ring and gave a few sharp raps. His hand fell slack by his side.

They waited. Dead leaves twirled around from a sprawling near-lifeless oak tree. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the courtyard of St. Abigail’s was unkempt. A stone statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary had been vandalized. The entire convent itself, at first glance, appeared to span one and half city blocks in length. In reality, he was staring at the dorms on the main level. All windows were boarded over. Spray-painted profanity desecrated the lower level of the building. As he waited, Vernon looked overhead. Stars appeared like twinkling diamonds. The night was so black and clear, he didn’t know if there’d be any more pleasant weather. The wind picked up, gusting mournfully across courtyard and through the branches of the oak. Leaves rustled, some detached and landed by the vampires’ feet. Anthony bent to swipe a leaf just as the door opened. His eyes slid up.

A tall, thin, nun stood in the doorway. Anthony straightened, turning loose of the leaf. Come back tomorrow. The Mother Superior proceeded to shut the door on them.

Vernon put his foot in the crack of the door. My time is very limited. I’ve stopped by to speak with the Mother Superior. The matter is very urgent.

She seemed reluctant, but held open the door. Speaking. Say what you must and leave. Her cold eyes narrowed with impatience.

There is really no gentle way of saying this so I’ll be direct. I’m here at the behest of the sheriff to check into some allegations of abuse. May we have a moment of your time?

She passed for a long moment, her face stiff. Finally, she said, Come in, if you must.

Vernon and Anthony stepped inside the shadowy interior. A sense of inexplicable gloom settled over them. The Mother shut the heavy door and re-locked it. She glared at them, her rigid posture radiating waves of loathing. This way, she snapped and led them to a visiting area. The wide screen divided them from the rest of the convent. Anthony began to have his doubts. He took a seat beside his employer. Vernon opened his briefcase, removed the correct documentation, and presented it to the Mother Superior. I believe these papers will explain a little more.

And the sheriff sends you out this way, in the dead middle of night?

Why, yes. I want to interview the all of the nuns and get their stories, then inspect the building.

On whose authority? You’re not an officer, are you?

I’m here as a concerned citizen at this point and I mean to get some answers. Should you prevent me, I’ll return with the sheriff to serve you with a search warrant. He hoped his bluff would work.

This is absurd, Mr.—?

Mr. Hughes, esquire. He kept his tone cordial.

The Mother Superior stiffened. She reeked of garlic and stale perfume. Anthony sat there quietly.

And who might you be, Father? The Mother’s tone was a little softer as she addressed him.

Father Anthony. He forced a smile.

The Mother Superior eyed him suspiciously, May I assume you are here as an advocate for the church, to refute these outlandish and false allegations? She cast the papers aside with a toss of her hand. They fluttered to land on the stone floor at her feet.

No. I’m just Mr. Hughes chauffeur.

A priest who doubles as a chauffeur? That’s hard to believe, She cocked her head and sniffed. Then let me assure you, we don’t mistreat the sisters.

I’d like to hear it from their own mouths and I’d like to have a word with the priest in charge.

The Mother bristled, I shall not permit that!

Will I have to phone the sheriff to raid this place? Vernon threatened.

No—don’t, please. Father Thomas Dollar—he’s out making hospital visitations. The Mother Superior disappeared behind screen and door; Anthony caught a glimpse of a dimly lit span of hall. Pitch blackness swallowed up everything else. Vernon shut his briefcase and set it beside their chairs.

Twiddling his thumbs, Anthony stared at the drab prefabricated walls and inset drop ceiling. It was off-putting and prison-like, unwelcoming. Anthony couldn’t stand cloisters, in general. He felt it was wrong to keep brides of Christ sheltered from the real world, although wasn’t opposed if that’s how most who entered convent life chose to live. As long as the isolation wasn’t imposed on them. He shuddered, hands folded, fingers locked.

Vernon leaned over to speak quietly to Anthony. Father, I get the distinct impression this place gives you the creeps.

That it does. There’s so much darkness and sadness—and that Mother Superior stinks of garlic and cheap perfume. And fake outrage. Anthony could barely catch his breath in the stale, stagnant air.

You think her denials are phony?

I do.

Well, you could be right. I hope these interviews and tour are quick. I feel a migraine coming on. Vernon touched a finger to his temple, massaging the throbbing pain. He took his hand away as the first of six sisters entered the divided room and took her seat behind the rood screen. Vernon withdrew a legal pad and pen.

What’s your name?

Sister Mary. She wouldn’t meet the gaze of the undead lawyer.

Anthony detected a wall of silence that would be difficult to penetrate. He tapped his boss on the shoulder and murmured something unheard in his ear. Anthony stood and scooted the chair closer to the screen, then leaned against the uncomfortable surface. His dark eyes studied the quiet nun.

Sister Mary, I’m Father Anthony, he said, his deep tone gentle.

She nodded in response. Slowly she lifted her face. Her eyes drifted from the undead priest to the lawyer. Armed with a pen, Vernon was ready to take down her story. The young sister had never seen such handsome gentlemen in her cloistered life. She stiffened, carriage held erect as if frozen in her seat.

Sister, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I still have five more to interview. Vernon motioned for her to hurry it along.

Her eyes never left the undead lawyer’s. She was captivated. Her heart skipped a beat; blood flowed fast through her veins—it felt like fire and ice. The new sensation was foreign and she could perceive it was reciprocated. Her eyes finally slid away from his to light briefly on the stiff form of The Mother Superior hovering in the background like a vulture.

Her stern presence was stifling; the interview process wasn’t going in the lawyer’s favor. Mother Superior, I’m going to have to ask for some privacy. I wish to speak with these sisters confidentially.

As if I can’t keep a confidence. She snorted, swept her long habit around her, and stormed out. The door slammed behind her. Mary remained fixed in her chair. She cleared her throat. Anthony mentally handed off the hypnosis to his employer, who took it from here.

How are living conditions here? Vernon asked.

Mary looked toward the door, then back at them. Horrible. Father Thomas Dollar has two other sisters he calls ‘his girls’. There used to be seven of us, but one of the women became pregnant. Sister Angie was her name and she went somewhere in the dead of night.

Anthony cringed. Vernon took notes. What convent was Sister Angie moved to?

She didn’t. She was locked in the ash tunnels under this convent and— Mary drew in a long sigh, then exhaled. I was the sister who took vigil over her day and night.

Did she die? Vernon looked the sister straight in the eye and felt a jolt of attraction, coursing through him like lightning. He deepened his psychic connection with the young woman.

What beautiful eyes you have! Her thought was received. The lawyer’s lips curved in a faint smile, there and gone. He knew in a flash that she was timid and confused by her emotions. But he also perceived deep sorrow in her tender heart. With a trace of guilt at invading her private thoughts, he returned his attention to the matter at hand.

Not at first.

What do you mean by that? Could you elaborate?

She gave birth in solitary confinement. Only the baby—it wasn’t ‘alive’—I almost can’t describe it. It was this pale and cold baby girl—very small—so helpless, so— Tears streamed down the sister’s face. She dried her eyes on her habit sleeve.

Vernon crooked his eyebrows, waiting.

It was stillborn, I believe. Sister Angie died an hour after giving birth. They kept me locked in with her for two days. The stench of death began to sicken me. Then I saw him, Father Dollar, coming down the tunnel. He unlocked the door, stepped in, and grabbed me around my neck, forcing me out, and then told me to go to the dining hall. Supper was ready.

Vernon kept meticulous notes, filled the first page and tucked it under, never missing a beat. What happened after supper?

We entered the chapel, had evening vespers, then retired to our rooms. I was shaking so badly I could barely stand, but I knew I had to hide my sorrow. Fortunately, Father Dollar never beat me that night. Her voice sank to a whisper. He never told any of us what became of Sister Angie or her child.

Beat you? Vernon glanced up.

Penance, you know or wait—no, you may not know, but I’m sure Father Anthony does.

Anthony nodded, agreeing with her. He never believed in voluntary self-punishment and didn’t condone it, either. His dark eyes studied the sister’s frail face. The signs of malnutrition were evident. Why don’t you leave this place? he asked kindly.

I have nowhere to go, that’s why.

Do you want to come with us? Vernon asked.

With you—as in tonight? Hope flickered in her eyes.

Yeah.

Yes, I will go with you.

Due to the seriousness of this situation, I think it might be best if I put you up at my place so you can be protected. Do you want to come with us? Vernon asked.

With you—as in tonight? Hope flickered in her eyes.

That’s right. Let me take you out of here.

She wrung her hands. I want to, she whispered. But I must ask Father Dollar to release me from my promise of loyalty.

Why? What does it matter?

If I leave without his permission, he’ll come after me.

I’ll protect you.

She pressed trembling fingers to her lips; he could feel her indecision, her fear. I know you would try. But you have no idea how powerful he is. Please understand. Let me do it my own way.

He sensed the panicked flutter of her heart and realized if he pressed her too hard, she would suffer. He had to remember she had the mindset of a battered woman. He had to be patient, at least one more day.

It’s okay, he told her. Don’t worry. You’ll be free of this place soon. Very soon if I have my way.

Vernon came to the silent conclusion had more than enough information. He’d be sure to get this place shut down as soon as possible and the other nuns placed in other cloisters if that’s what they wanted. If not, he’d arrange something else for them. Would you be willing to sign a statement for the police?

I suppose so. She glanced around. If I knew I would be safe.

Your safety is paramount to me, Vernon said, his intimate tone more revealing than his words. I mean, I worry about all the sisters here. In fact, I think I have all I need for now. You can tell Mother Superior I won’t need to talk to the rest of them. And be careful, Sister Mary. Don’t let her know what you told me.

I won’t lie.

I’m not asking you to. But you can be clever with the truth.

I think I see what you mean. Oh, and Mr. Hughes. Sister Mary now seemed at ease in their company. Father Dollar substitutes blood for wine during Holy Communion.

Blood? The shock on Vernon’s face said it all.

And flesh.

That last one made Anthony queasy. He clutched his stomach and felt his muscles tighten; a wave of nausea washed through him.

Father, are you going to be alright? You look a little sick. Mary said.

Anthony pushed himself out of the chair. I need some fresh air.

Vernon produced his business card and handed it over along with a book of matches with his nightclub’s name.

Mary failed to take the cue. I don’t smoke.

But you might want to talk with me. Call the number on the matchbook if you think of anything new. Or if you need anything.

She reached out a slender hand. Matchbook and business card disappeared under her black scapular. Thank you.

It’s getting awfully late and I shouldn’t keep you from any more beauty sleep. He winked at the sister, trying to lighten the moment and ease her distress.

Her porcelain cheeks flushed a pale pink as she watched handsome undead lawyer collect his briefcase. He stood, turned on one heel, and walked out.

Anthony gulped down another breath of fresh air; his migraine intensified, adding to his already nauseated state. Vernon patted his chauffeur on the shoulder. Let’s go.

His employer’s comforting touch was a balm on the priest’s mind. He forced himself on, hurried down the steps as fast as his legs could carry him. He settled in the black Jaguar. Once Vernon had gotten in, Anthony started the engine and departed the rundown vicinity, anxious to leave the choking air of anguish behind.

Vernon stared out the window at the bleak scenery rolling past. I wanted to take her with me, he murmured.

Anthony skillfully guided the car down the street. I know.

I couldn’t take her against her will. His hand clenched into a loose fist.

Oh, I think her will was with you, Anthony said. But that place has a hold over her. That place and the horrid Father Dollar. She has a lot of healing to do.

This I know.

It’ll be shut down within forty eight hours. Sheriff Jimmy glanced at the lawyer’s notes.

Can you put a motion before the courts and get it shut down tonight? Vernon asked.

As much as I’d like to, I can’t. I need to present this new information to a judge. We’ll just have to be patient. It’s a waiting game now.

Father Dollar is holding those poor women against their will. He impregnated one of those sisters, then she died according to sister Mary.

Where’s the body and the unborn child? All Sister Mary told you is that Father Dollar never mentioned anything more about it. And when did this incident happen, what date and time?

Dammit! I never asked. Vernon lowered his head; a crease of worry formed between his brows. He sighed. Stress hung thick in the air.

I think we’ll conduct some more interviews. The Sheriff recommended.

Tonight? Vernon looked up. The sheriff gestured him to collect his briefcase and vamoose.

I’ll phone when I’m ready to have you try again.

But it might be too late, Vernon pleaded. I’ve told you how grave the situation is. I thought you understood. Why are you backpedaling now?

Mr. Hughes, we need a little more evidence—you know, physical proof? You didn’t have the sister undress? Did you examine her for bruising?

Of course not. It never entered my mind. She’s malnourished, and to me, that’s good enough reason to act fast.

I will see what strings I can pull. Maybe they’ll be out of that godforsaken place late this evening.

I want Mary brought to my suite after dusk, Vernon stated firmly.

That’ll be up to her to decide where she wants to go. Mr. Hughes, you can’t just expect women to play like putty— oh, I get it. He studied the lawyer for a moment. You fell in love with her.

Yes, it appears that’s exactly what happened. Vernon’s tone was strangely quiet. It hurt me to leave her there. Get her out of there as soon as possible, I beg you. And please see to it she has everything she needs. You give her a warm meal.

But Mr. Hughes, hasn’t she taken a vow of celibacy or something? She can’t love you back.

Love doesn’t always have to follow the rules, Sheriff. I don’t know what, if anything, will happen between Sister Mary and me. In any case, I want her to be safe and comfortable. She looks like she’s half-starved.

Sheriff scratched his head. If I haven’t started my shift, I’ll be sure one of the boys around here will scare something up for her. I can’t promise steak and fries.

Whatever the lady wants, Vernon ordered. I’ll cover the cost. Just take care of her until she comes to me.

Yes, sir.

By the time the sheriff looked again, Vernon was gone. Two hundred dollars lay on his cluttered desk that wasn’t there before. Sheriff Jimmy would see to it that Mary dined well. He needed her to regain her strength and energy; she would be his prime witness. And, he owed it to his smitten friend.

The very next night, the Sheriff arrived like a war battalion, armed with a search warrant and impressive backup. The nuns were discovered unharmed and eager to leave. The Mother Superior wasn’t around nor could they locate Father Dollar. The good sisters were whisked away from their prison and put up in a hotel for the time being. Sheriff Jimmy and his men made a thorough sweep of the decrepit convent. It was everything Vernon described. In living color, however, unspeakable horrors came to light. A few rookies ran out, gagging, on the verge of losing their breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Sheriff Jimmy searched the dorm rooms. Decay hung thick in the air. Masks were donned but the thin paper couldn’t block out the stench. The ash tunnels revealed the most unspeakable grisly discoveries. The portion Mary had described was blood-stained and barren. She hadn’t fabricated her story. The sheriff carried on through the dark, his flashlight the only illumination in the tunnels. He expected somebody would leap out at him from every turn. His imagination painted horrible pictures in his mind. He saw old blood, but no bodies. He picked up something shiny in the flashlight’s beam. The sheriff crouched low, carefully plucked the Satanic quartz rosary from the floor, and dropped it in an evidence bag. When he met up with his men searching the tunnels in the junction, he found they’d come up empty-handed. The unmistakable odor of death was coming from somewhere, but where?

One of his men played their flashlight over a section of brick. The mortar appeared too fresh to be one hundred years old. Sheriff Jimmy withdrew his nightstick and began tapping the wall, listening for a hollow spot. Finding one, he used the end of his nightstick like a chisel. The soft brick gave way, falling in on itself. A few more loose pieces toppled out and a partial mummified hand appeared. Sheriff Jimmy motioned for better light. He pulled a few more bricks loose, and sticking the light inside the hole, poked his head in. Behind the false wall he discovered a dank chamber. Shackled to a wall was another deceased woman—a nun, her mummified features strangely preserved in death. Sheriff Jimmy ducked out, handed off the flashlight.

Call the county medical examiner. We have two deaths.

A breathless uniform ran through the tunnels and came to a shuddering stop before the sheriff. We’ve accounted for all them but one. Sister Mary’s missing. His troubled eyes fell onto the newest grim discovery.

It’s not her, Sheriff said. This poor woman has been here a while.

The other sisters said Sister Mary was abducted. The officer caught his breath and held it, trying to avoid inhaling rotting flesh.

When? Sheriff Jimmy asked.

They said it happened around lunchtime. A Cardinal and some other church official—a guy that looks like that uhm— The uniform snapped his fingers picturing Anthony’s face in his mind. That priest fellow that drives around that lawyer.

Father Anthony?

That’s it—but it wasn’t him. The church official dressed like him.

Great, well, any of you boys up for making a sweep of the local churches around town? Let’s drag ‘em all in for questioning.

The sisters said their attire wasn’t normal.

What you do mean? Sheriff Jimmy pressed.

This Cardinal wore all black with a pontiff hat. The church official wore a red cleric suit, black collar.

Alright, you and you over there, canvass these streets and call me the minute you find anybody matching this description.

No sir, you don’t understand. They didn’t come here by vehicle. They entered the sister’s room through an open window, ripped off the bars like they were nothing, and dematerialized with her in their clutches.

The Sheriff paled. Great! Mr. Hughes is going to snap my neck when he hears of this!

I called all available units to keep an eye out for this false religious duo.

Dear god, call in more back-up to deal with this and be careful of the evidence. Get the techs down here immediately!

Sir, where are you going?

Sheriff Jimmy turned to address the officer. I’m going to deliver the bad news to Mr. Hughes, personally. Then hurried off, sprinting through the tunnel.

Sheriff Jimmy ran his siren all the way to Vernon’s penthouse suite, arriving in mere moments. He pounded his fist on the door, frantic. Bruno answered and stepped aside to allow him entry. Sheriff Jimmy trembled where he stood. I’d like to speak with Mr. Hughes, please.

Very well. Bruno locked the front door behind him and disappeared down a span of hall.

He tapped on the door and then called, Sir, Sheriff Jimmy is here to see you.

Tell him I’ll be out in a few. Vernon was fresh out of the shower, a towel fastened around his waist. He switched on the electronic toothbrush and proceeded to brush his fangs. The small buzzing sound filtered into the living room.

Bruno returned to the entryway. He’ll be out shortly. Please have a seat. The servant gestured to the black leather sofa.

Sheriff Jimmy dropped on its surface and looked around, dreading the moment he must face the lawyer. Sea foam green walls were sparsely decorated with a few canvas paintings depicting dogs playing