Wicked Justice: Book 3 From the St. Isidore Collection: St. Isidore Collection, #3

By Rod Kackley

A Serial Killer Is Back From The Dead. He's Ready To Make Up For Lost Time.

 

Samantha has never risked anything for anyone. Now she has to risk her life to find and rescue the woman Sam didn't even know she was in true love until Heather went missing.  

 

Her opponent? Just a demon who is recently back from the dead and wants to take Heather back to Hell with him. 

Samantha is not alone. Spirits killed by the demon when he was alive come to her aid. But will they be enough?

 

This supernatural and occult, crime and suspense thriller, is played out in St. Isidore, and what was the demon's playground the first time he walked among the living, the Suicide Forest.

 

Wicked Justice: Book 3 From the St. Isidore Collection is a supernatural and occult, paranormal mystery that tells the story of a young woman thrust into the role of an amateur sleuth who has to find and rescue Heather, her one true love, before a demon takes her to the Other Side, never to return.

Welcome to St. Isidore

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rod Kackley
• Release date: Dec 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781524201753

Rod Kackley

Rod Kackley is an award-winning author and journalist, with a lifelong fascination of crime, who lives in Grand Rapids, Mich.  Rod also writes crime fiction books in the St. Isidore Collection.

Book preview

One

Looking for a stupid kid who might or might not have killed himself in the Suicide Forest was getting really, really old for John Sheldon. This teenager, Bradley, who had been part of the audience when Bree and Beth did their consenting-adult murder-suicide, which interrupted the kid's suicide, had never come out of the Forest.

Or if he had, Bradley had left his bicycle, with a nameplate for a license plate, behind in the Suicide Forest’s parking lot.

That meant Bradley had become John’s problem. Which meant John was pissed off. Again. Searching for the losers who swung for the fences of mortality had never been John’s purpose in life. True, he did find the very first girls who were discovered naked and hanging from the trees. But that was years ago. And those girls were murder victims, done in by his little brother Tim.

John had returned to St. Isidore just one bullet to the brain pan of Tim too late to save his brother from being roped into Bree’s complicated plot to do away with her mother and stepfather without getting her pretty little hands dirty.

Bitch.

A few more people had to die along the way, including Tim’s best (and only) friend Paul, Melinda—poor MILF was only trying to stay in Bree’s panties—and of course, Tim.

John had been drawn back to St. Isidore for revenge.

Who could blame him.?

And it was all set. He was moving in on the pair of lesbians who had taken the world by storm and put St. Isidore into an international spotlight.

John was so close.

But Bree and Beth had spoiled it for him by putting their guns into each others’ mouth and pulling their triggers. Wet, sticky pieces of their brains and the shrapnel of their skulls were plastered all over the trees directly behind them and on the grass where the two lovers fell wrapped in each others arms, pissing all over each other as their bodies lost all control.

Of course, their eyes popped open. People never die in real life like they do in the movies, John thought as he looked down and saw, Bree and Beth. Their eyeballs were bulging, pushing back eyelids that wouldn't close again until the town’s undertaker, Bradford Glasscock sewed them in place.

Their eyes were aimed at Heaven, John told the first reporter who had shown up to cover their deaths, just to watch her flinch.

He wiped some of the B-Girls’ skull fragments and brain splatter on the little blonde bitch’s boobs. She barfed all over her microphone and passed out on the grass of the Suicide Forest.

So, there were times when John was able to get a measure of revenge and deal out his own brand of justice — God I hate these TV and radio people, John thought. But those times were way too far apart and way too fucking short to really be satisfying.

His life’s mission after the death of Tim has been to kill Bree and Beth. More than simple homicide, John wanted to torture. He wanted revenge. John wanted justice. He got none of the above.

Bitches.

John wanted more. He wanted a lot more. But he knew there was no way to go up to Heaven or down to Hell, where he was sure both of them had landed and pull them out, bring them back to life and torture them to death. The bitches were already dead.

What’s a guy to do, he thought to himself. But at the same time, John felt so fucking bad about Tim.

John knew he could've stopped Tim from killing after finding the first two girls in the trees of the Suicide Forest. Instead, John had chickened out. Their older brother had already been lost to the madness of the Vietnam War. John didn’t think anyone would be served by sending Tim to prison.

But if he had, John knew none of the others would have died. At least they would not have died at the hands of Tim.

John was consumed with guilt. That’s what brought him back to Swingin’ Izzy or Swingin’ Easy as the business people said as they made their livings off Suicide Forest swag like hangman’s noose coffee mugs and car deodorizers.

Tim had sent John an email about what he and Bree were planning to do. Tim knew that Bree might be playing him for a sucker, or trying to play him, but as he told John, it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to handle a bitch like that.

I’ve done it before, Tim wrote in the email, "andI can do it again. This girl tries to fuck me over and she’ll die even faster than the rest. I know you found two of them, but there were more, plenty more. Everybody thought they were suicides, or maybe they just wanted to believe it. Whatever. The fact is, I took care of all the bitches. Disrespect Tim Sheldon and you will die. I taught those bitches all about it. Chronic, fatal disease from which they did not recover. hahaha.

Some screamed. Some didn’t, but they all died. And Bree will die too if she is fucking me over. But I don’t think she is, John. I think this one really loves me. And I know I love her."

Baby brother, you loved them all, John thought as he read the email the first time.

He and Tim had stayed in touch during the years they were absent from each others’ lives. A note here, sometimes an email there, a tweet, a text, but this time it was a letter. Snail mail. That’s why John knew Tim was serious about this bitch, Bree.

You fucking bitch, John thought to himself, not about Bree, but about Tim. I failed him.

That is what John would have told Tim if he had gotten to him in time. But he hadn’t. So to make up for it, John had wanted to kill Bree and Beth as slowly and painfully as possible. But he never had the chance.

That's what the psychiatrist he was sleeping with thought.

Fucking bitches all of you, John thought.

Still, John knew he had to let it go. His thirst for revenge and torture and all the rest was in the past. He had put it to rest.

It was time to leave St. Isidore, once again, but this time for good. It was time to go.

And John promised himself he would do that, just as soon as he found this fucking kid, Bradley.

Two

J ohn you just screwed it up, Tim had said as he looked down on the bodies of Bree and Beth being taken away to the Glasscock Funeral Home.

Two hearses were slowly making their way through the horde of reporters who had shown up to document the last good minutes of Tim's least favorite bitches.

John, I did my best to help you, but you just couldn’t get it done, Tim said, knowing his older brother couldn't hear his words. But Tim also knew John would feel his younger sibling's pain and make it his own.

You just never had my killer instinct, Tim said. And you didn't move fast enough. Your heart just wasn't really into it.

But they’re dead. Bree and Beth are gone. It had to hurt getting their brains blown out like that, John rationalized to himself, almost as if he was arguing with himself.

Goddamn man, said a voice in John's mind that was ringing clearer. I didn’t want their brains blown out. I wanted to see them naked swinging from the trees. That was the justice I wanted. That was the revenge I wanted. I got nothing. John, you screwed the pooch, this time. You totally fucked it up.

It should have been easier to take care of Bree and Beth the way he wanted, Tim thought. Once Tim learned that he could control things better dead than it had ever been possible alive, he orchestrated the plan as best he could.

But maybe I just didn’t start soon enough, or exercise enough control, Tim said. After all this is all new to me. Never been dead before.

So far being dead is a hell of a lot better than being alive. I never was able to get inside someone's soul, inside their body, and really do what I want. Imagine the possibilities.

It felt so good to be inside John. Tim had idolized his older brother and had what was called today, a man crush on him. Nothing sexual, Tim assured himself and his best friend, Paul, back in the day.

But still there was something about John's body, his eyes and his smile that I always wanted, Tim admitted to himself.

And now I have all of John, whenever I want him.

The first time he had gotten total control of John had been incredibly erotic for Tim, he had to admit that. Sitting on a bench outside Bree and Beth’s apartment above The Reading Room Bookstore on South DeVos Avenue, he had the best of both worlds. Tim could see into the B-Girls’ apartment through his brother’s eyes while he got lost in John’s furry chest.

John had been popping some kind of pain pill. Tim knew that it had diluted his adrenaline rush just a bit, but it was not enough to ruin the experience.

It was still exquisite. The best of both worlds as only someone who has always been bisexual but forced to stay in a closet can understand.

Watching Bree and Beth do their dance of lesbian love while being inside his man-crush was the kind of thing Tim had been obliged to pay for on the internet back in the days when he was among the Living.

And there were plenty of men still paying money for the Bree and Beth show on the web, today. But not Tim. Thanks to using John as his portal into their lives and his memories of actually being with her, Tim had it all, or at least more than any other man, living or dead, could possibly hope for.

Tim still wanted Bree. Making love with her had been the best sexual experience of his life. The kidnapping, the bondage, the rough sex; it was all too good to be true.

Real life: It was so much better than anything he had seen on the Internet. Just the memories of Bree's soft, white body under his still got him excited, or at least as aroused as a dead guy can get.

Tim discovered he could use John's body to get off, there was no better way to put it. Tim also realized why so many middle-aged guys who smoked too much, drank too much, and put away so much fast food their blood couldn't circulate to the proper appendages, loved those little blue pills.

It was frustrating to try to use John's body to accomplish anything sexual. But not to worry, Tim discovered. He could easily slip into the body of a younger man, even a teenage boy. Again the best of both worlds for Tim.

And what fun Tim had in the body of a teenage girl showering with her volleyball team. It was a dream come true.

But it wasn't the same as being with Bree, even though he understood she had played him for a dumb fuck.

Tim might be dead, but he wasn't stupid. At least not as much dead as he had been alive.

Tim knew now that Bree hadn't cared that much for him. After all, she did set Tim up for execution by a single bullet from a SWAT police officer’s rifle.

Maybe I always knew. What would the hottest girl at St. Isidore High want with a middle-aged guy like me?. But the sex was hot, I have to give her that, Tim decided. And I compromised, what can I say?

Afer that bullet blasted the back door in his skull, there was only one thing hotter than his sexual desire for Bree. 

His wish to make her suffer burned brighter than a blue flame inside what passed for Tim’s soul. He wanted John to kidnap her for him, and together they would have wild BDSM sex with her. They would torture her, use her, and eventually kill her. And they would do it with her friend, Beth too.

A little pudgy, Beth was, but if we could have gotten the two of them together, I'll be we wouldn't have hated it, Tim thought with a shrug.

So, Tim pushed the confrontation in the Suicide Forest between John, Beth and Bree. It didn't go smoothly. It was not one of those best-laid plans that get fucked up. It was just fucked up.

First, Tim didn’t realize how tough it would be to get inside two human beings, at the same time, body, and soul. Second, there was that little fucking kid, Bradley.

Shit stick decided to try to kill himself the very night I was moving my little pawns exactly where I wanted them, Tim explained to a demon who served as his mentor in the Forest. "That little nerd motherfucker. Goddamn him anyway. Fell out of the fucking tree without the noose around his neck and distracted everyone.

So whether it was Tim’s fault or John’s fault or if it was blamed on Bradley, Tim's chance to get even a small measure of the revenge he wanted had been missed. Bree was dead. Beth was dead. What more could he do to them? Nothing, he decided.

But there was another woman who inspired even deeper, hotter, more incendiary thoughts of sex, revenge and justice in Tim’s soul.

She was the one who really fucked me over and started this all going downhill, Tim said subliminally to John as he laid out a new strategy.

Tim would have to think more about her. He knew the bitch was still alive. She left St. Isidore because of what she claimed I did to her. The bitch, he thought. But geography is not challenging for the dead. Tim had learned that early on. He and the Dead could go anywhere, and do anything much more easily than they had alive.

All Tim had to do was bide his time. He just needed a strategy and after that, tactics. The package had to be better that his last plan and Tim knew if he wanted it done right, he had to do it himself. No more relying on his older sibling.

He would still use John, but Tim would be in charge. No fooling around this time, and when the time was right, Tim would boot John away and he would be back on Earth, among the Living.

He would be able to get his measure of revenge and find justice for what had ruined his life when he was teaching at St. Isidore High.

And I will make that bitch pay, he told Paul. She will pay.

He was making John pay too. After all he had screwed the pooch on he Beth and Bree plan.

Tim had always loved the Lamplighter in St. Isidore. It was basically a shot-and-beer bar with a wooden floor laid down back in the 1950s when people were leaving the big city for St. Isidore. John could still smell the stale cigarette smoke, along with the whiskey and beer that been spilled by the parents of the people who had taken their elders' places, and were nursing their misery at the bar this evening.

Tim led John to the Lamplighter most nights. He wanted him to feel the sorrow, drinking the Buds and do the shots of Wild Turkey Tim couldn’t swallow due to being one of the Dead. It was the only way Tim could get close to the feeling of belonging he used to have when he’d sit at a table or the bar peeling labels off his beer bottles and stacking the dead soldiers into a pyramid.

And, I am spending some quality time with my big brother, he said sarcastically, as he tried to get John excited about the barmaids wearing tight Lamplighter t-shirts and Daisy Duke shorts.

Tim’s fantasies were actually pretty close to reality as he left John, allowing his brother time to snooze at the bar, and he luxuriated inside Stephanie, one of the hottest of the hot barmaids.

She was lost in his lust, as Tim made one of her hands caress a breast while the other drifted to her camel toe. Stephanie stopped herself with a start, realized where her hand were, what she had been doing, and shot embarrassed looks 360 degrees around the bar. It seemed like some of the guys at the sports trivia game machine had been watching. But they didn’t appear to mind.

See what I mean? You don’t know it all, Tim said as he led John to do another shot of Wild Turkey and chase it with a long, hard swallow of cold beer. We can do this, but we have to be very, very careful. If we screw it up, where will be no justice.

What’s justice have to do with it? John asked.

Justice for us you shit-stick! Tim yelled, his anger coursing through John strong enough to force his older brother to clench his right fist, raise it over his head and smash it down on the bar.

We are going to get the bitch who started this all. The bitch who should had kept her mouth shut or at least admitted how much she wanted me, Tim said as John wiggled the fingers on his right hand to see if any had been broken on impact with the bar.

Those who had been startled by John’s fist slamming the bar didn’t let it interrupt their revelry for long. They resumed taking long, sorrowful slugs of beer and whiskey a few moments after the peanut shells and husks lifted by John’s fist fluttered back to the bar.

She’ll be the first. But she won’t be the only one. We are going to get them all. All of those sorry motherfuckers, Tim said, particularly enjoying every syllable of the last word.

St. Isidore High School Principal, Mr. ‘Chrome Dome’ Watson, Tim said with sarcasm dripping off his nickname for the man who had recommended the school board fire him,"every one of those jocks who laughed at