The Rise of the Widow-Maker: The Light of Death Will Come

By Zoez Lajoune

The soul-chilling story of Carlos MacIntyre continues with exploration into the darkest unswept chambers of his mind. Therein, his innermost fears are revealed, including his fear of the Light of Death himself, his dark side, the Widow-Maker. Since the Widow-Maker emerged from the darkness within him in The Awakening of the Widow-Maker, Carlos MacIntyre has sought to understand the mission of this Egyptian Blackness and be at one with his teacher. With the aid of his psychiatrist, Dr. Marcus Rutowski, who is his mother’s old college psychology professor, the journey into his mind through hypnosis proves that the walls between different worlds no longer exist. From the Johnson Parkway tunnel underneath the Seventh Street railroad tracks in St. Paul, to the halls of the Bell Museum of Natural History at the University of Minnesota campus, in Downtown Minneapolis. As Li’l Carlos gives in more and more to the darkness, he becomes the living embodiment of requital. A cyanide cocktail in a chalice of destruction waiting for a worthy soul to take a drink. There is no safe haven to flee to, no bargaining chip to use for leverage, and no plea to offer that will obtain mercy. Only a terrible fate awaits those that fall on his list. He is armed with a brand-new set of construction skills from Summit Academy.

The contortion of disfigured bodies in crawl spaces at renovated stores and the nauseous scents reported at numerous residential homes all seems unending and baffling for Lead Detective Tommy Soprano and his rookie partner, Mike Kowalski, whom are assisted by criminal pathologist Raj Sarkozy from the FBI, along with several police agencies.

Many people in the neighborhood praise the Widow-Maker for the peace he’s brought. Some want his head for the lives that he took. He is the walking curse upon many, the writing on the wall at the hospital, and the whisper in the minds of the unrepentant, reminding them of their deeds that they won’t even dare utter in prayer. All know him, and none will forget him. As he casts his dark shadow upon the Twin Cities, they will witness the rise of the Widow-Maker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646282333

Book preview

Chapter 1

Scars of the Mind

MacIntyre awoke early in the morning with her throat feeling parched like an African desert plain. Her head began to pound. Her stomach felt queasy. Slowly, her thoughts began to formulate around several recent and strange occurrences. She remembered often tiptoeing to listen at the adjoining bedroom wall and nights of laying paralyzed by fear underneath the covers in bed. Then images of Li’l Carlos barefoot, no shirt, in jeans, and reaching into the obscurity of the toolshed in the middle of the night. Who was he talking to? She said to herself, Get it together, MacIntyre. Your son needs you. Climbing out of bed, she whispered a prayer, Lord Jesus, please help me to get through this. Help us.

As she reached her bedroom door, she felt a cool breeze come from underneath, across her toes. Opening the door, she noticed Li’l Carlos was awake and playing music in his room. James Brown’s popular song I Feel Good was playing on his radio. The window was open. His bed was made. Li’l Carlos noticed his mom as he walked past the open door, carrying laundry. He paused, smiled, and said, Good morning, Mom. How did you sleep?

With a polite smile, MacIntyre replied, I slept okay. She was lying and standing there feeling as if she had just slept in the seventh circle of hell. What’s all this? she said, inquiring about his erratic behavior that morning.

Like most teens, Li’l Carlos normally slept until noon. He kept dishes in his room so long, you’d rather throw them away than clean them. His clothing often littered the floor, and you could never quite tell what was clean and what was dirty. This morning was different, though. Everything was swept, garnished, and in its proper place.

Li’l Carlos said, I feel great, Mom! So I decided to get up and straighten up a bit. You do know that tomorrow is my first day at Summit Academy?

It had only been three months since Dominic’s funeral. The cousin that he loved and lost. Three weeks prior to that, there was a horrible incident at Park Center High. A guy was found mutilated in the parking lot. His eyes were missing, and car battery acid was seeping out of his ears. The following day, a man under police watch was murdered in the same fashion at Regions Hospital. The authorities investigating still hadn’t commented on the murders. Hospital records, along with the autopsy report from the county morgue, indicated the same modus operandi for both murders. Then there were those six nickels found in the eye sockets of each victim. They appeared to be some sort of dark age calling card. It was as if a tocsin was chiming out from a church steeple, warning souls of what was already among us and nobody was listening.

Carlos, are you sure that you want to go to this school? You know there’s no rush. You just graduated high school. Plus, remember how hard you worked on your SATs so that you could go to a four-year university? replied MacIntyre, with concern in her voice.

Adding a slight chuckle to his already widening grin, he replied, D-o-o-o-n’t worry, Mom. You worry too much. I may still get an associate degree in business in a couple of years to start my own company. This construction trade course is only twenty weeks long. Think about it. In five months, I could be working over at that new US Bank stadium they’re building to replace the old Vikings football stadium. The pay is good. Plus, I want to do something to honor dad. MacIntyre smiled.

Although it had been eight years since Li’l Carlos’s dad had died while on the 35W bridge in Minneapolis at the time it collapsed. She still thought about him every day.

Okay, okay. Summit Academy it is for now. But if you start having trouble over there? We’re getting you out of there. The crowd at that school now is way different from when your dad went there. Deal? she questioned as she pointed at him.

Deal, Mom, he replied contentedly.

MacIntyre jogged down the steps to get some brunch. Looking up, she said, Thank You, believing that her prayer had been answered. She had a bowl of Cap’n Crunch and a banana, her favorite. Some things you never quite grow out of. Happily, she hummed away as she enjoyed her cake mix bowl of cereal and followed the treasure map on the back of the box. Suddenly fear gripped her. Her heart began racing. Her throat became dry. The hairs on her arms stood up. A clammy feeling swept over her flesh. She dropped her spoon as her eyes peered over her left shoulder and rested on the sound of the hammering coming from upstairs. Walking over to the bottom of the staircase, she could hear the sound of the floor being torn apart. Mingled faintly within the radio broadcast was the sound of whispers, shuffling back and forth.

Place the journal in the crevice of the floor and conceal its opening with the board. Do it. Do it quickly, the Widow-Maker told Li’l Carlos.

The Widow-Maker continued, and Li’l Carlos said, We must carefully record our work. Our leg-a-cy is important.

Yes! Yes! I agree with you, said Li’l Carlos, in a clear and conspiring voice. What’s our first task? he asked the Dark One.

To become the cry in the hospital waiting room. The whisper in the minds of the unrepentant, reminding them of their deeds they won’t even dare utter in prayer. To do that, we will need a list of notable achievements. List each of our prey separately on their own page in the journal. Detail the affliction of their flesh. The misery they brought to others. The judgment executed against them. Plus, the date, place, and hour of their calling. To transcend in serving a greater purpose. Our purpose. The Light of Death. To remove the scales from the eyes of many. That they may clearly see the error of their ways, responded the Widow-Maker.

MacIntyre began inching closer up the stairs to Li’l Carlos’s door. Although she could not make out anything that was being said, she clearly knew he was talking to someone. Midway up the stairs, a loose floorboard creaked.

In an agitated voice, the Widow-Maker said, It’s her! She mustn’t interfere with our work.

Li’l Carlos, quickly protecting her, said, No! She’s our mother.

The Widow-Maker responded inquisitively, Our mother?

MacIntyre called from the staircase cautiously, Carlos, honey, do you have company up there?

Again, the Widow-Maker snapped, Get rid of her!

Li’l Carlos said, No, Mom. It’s just me.

MacIntyre replied in a voice that was a little surer of herself, Who are you talking to?

Li’l Carlos began hearing the chime of six nickels falling to the ground as his vision grew hazy. The Widow-Maker looked at the hammer, screwdriver, and floorboard on the bed. Then he thought of shrink-wrapping her warm dead body and placing it in the floor next to the journal. Li’l Carlos hoped that she would not come up there.

Quickly, he said, I’m on the phone with the radio station, Mom.

MacIntyre sighed in relief and asked, Well, when you get off the phone, want to go for a walk?

Contentedly, Li’l Carlos said, Sure, I’ll be down there in a second.

Carmen began laughing at herself. Quickly, she sat back down at the kitchen table to finish eating her cereal. As soon as she was done, she went to place her bowl in the sink. While standing there, drinking the last of the milk in the bowl, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Li’l Carlos’s cell phone on the counter by the side entrance door. As she looked back over her right shoulder at the staircase, a bitterness rose up in her stomach.

Vapors of acid reached the back of her throat. Seconds from vomiting, she wrapped her arm around her waist, and she began leaning over the garbage can. After several intense spasms, followed by momentary dry heaving, she noticed her morning’s meal in the garbage can speckled with bright blotches of blood.

Suddenly she felt flush. Vertigo stole her balance. The pounding in her head stole her strength. Gripping the edge of the counter, slowly, she made her way to the faucet. She rinsed her mouth, then splashed cool water on her face and neck. Next, she filled a glass halfway with apple juice from the refrigerator before she sat back down at the table to gather herself. A couple of sips of the apple juice quenched the burning sensation in her stomach. Carmen thought that she probably had an ulcer due to all the stress that she was under. In a depressed voice, she said to herself, Great, now we both need doctors. Suddenly it hit her. Her old college psychology professor, Dr. Rutowski, had a private practice. Maybe he would be willing to counsel Carlos. Plus she trusted him. Quickly, she grabbed a business directory, located Dr. Rutowski’s number, and called to set up an appointment. Softly, she began to cry in desperation. She hoped her old college professor could help her son to find balance again. Still, the sound of the floorboard sliding into place upstairs in Li’l Carlos’s bedroom told her that something was out on the horizon. It was the silhouette of a fast-approaching figure. One whose shadow stretched longer and longer into their lives, with the approaching sunset. One whose visit would change their lives forever.

Chapter 2

Devil’s Gaze

It was business as usual over at Huntington Place in Brooklyn Park Minnesota this troublesome network of 840 apartments is also known as Wretched City. It is infested with drug overdoses, gang homicides, armed robberies and prostitution. The thick lies of Skinny Pimp laced the air of the tiny second floor apartment. His words like toxic carbon dioxide out of the tailpipe of an old ’68 Buick Roadmaster.

With a smooth Ray Charles-like voice, he said, Pay close attention and take what I’m about to give you. I want you to take this game and treat it like a fine jewel. Drape it about your neck. Don’t hide it or revise it. As I pour it, drink it. If you receive it, I’ll help you be it.

Shelia Parker aka Ms. Vanity lost herself instantly under the power of his seductive gaze.

Swiftly, his words struck, paralyzing her cerebral cortex like the venom from a black mamba snake. Quietly, she sat in full attention. Skinny smiled. Vanity raised her hand, and Skinny nodded to give her lead way to speak.

Sheepishly, Vanity asked, Do you have a plan, Skinny?

Skinny shot a smirk at her. He expected her to have unwavering faith in him at all times. Deeming her question as blasphemous, he began to shake his head impatiently. Then boldly, he began declaring to her, Wipe the sleep out of your eyes. Look before you and see. That the revealer of impeccable game is me, the one and only Skinny. Of course, I have a plan. It’s time that I elevate your task. For my plan to come to fruition, you must do all that I ask. The first thing that I want you to do is to make those satin pajamas, that you love to wear in public, a thing of the past.

Vanity raised her hand to request permission to speak. Skinny closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, at the small end table, in the living room, beside the open window. It was his favorite seat in the house. Beams of light cascaded through white-and-red transparent curtains around him, as they blew gently in the wind. The scenery made it look as if he was receiving a divine revelation from hell. Quickly, he began to visualize all that he wanted to come to pass. Slowly, he took long drags off the cigarette in his mouth. The cigarette had one long ash on it. No matter how much the wind blew, the ash never fell off. When he exhaled the smoke through his nostrils, it gave him the appearance of a sickly old dragon. Although tempted to speak, Vanity knew not to disturb Skinny while he was in thought.

He chose not to speak for several minutes. When Skinny opened his eyes, he saw that Vanity was still sitting there with her hand raised. He ignored her request to speak. Then he began to lay out piece by piece just where their next stimulus package would come from.

Slyly, Skinny said, "The opportunity is before me to take your mind and make one last use of you as a tool. I see you walking with a slightly older businessman. One that loves to bury himself in his work. He’s too prominent of a figure in his field to waste his time on family. He has chased away every prospect of a marriage that has come his way in this life. Still, the desires of his flesh must be satisfied. He has an insatiable taste for skilled women, such as yourself. In vain he thinks that vanity can be something else. So if it’s vanity he desires? It’s Vanity he will get. I’m going to make a few phone calls and find out what is the best location to plant you at. It will be an average establishment. So you should feel right at home. You will know him when you