Bleeding Cross Read online

  "And fuck you, Tom!" Lonnie twisted his face to the side, "Yeah, that does sound better than Boss."

  Lonnie took upon the door just before Tom could pull him back again.

  "I had to try for myself, Lonnie. It was the only way."

  Lonnie didn't look back.

  All Thomas had was the truth, even if it wasn't enough, no amount of bushing around with some trumped-up BS could simmer down the fury of his old seasoned friend.

  "I met the Tribunal. It's as nasty as they said it was."

  Lonnie was drawn in, and met eye to eye with Thomas.

  “How did you find it?”

  “I asked.”

  "You asked for directions? In Hell?!"

  Thomas sensed that the humor of the story softened the rage of old Lonnie. His obligation rose in the face of his friend's hunger to know. The words he said next were a vivid description of the greatest nightmares to be ever imagined by man.

  “Imagine a world of dry, lifeless slopes and black mountains, carved with ditches filled of thick red streams. Like open gashing veins you would never dare to get close to. It was hard to wind around the littered steaming piles of bones, mixed with bodies eaten lean with maggots the size of your fist, or living holes in the ground that blew flames that lit the constant night. Everything was a fuel to some eternal cosmic punishment that the mind would never begin to understand.

  The light that guided my feet on the red sand came from flying snakes of flame that crossed over my head, and shooting pulses of rabid fire. I had to stay clear from things that my eyes couldn't make sense of. Like the black coils of spiked slick creatures that twisted around the rocks. I hadn't the smallest desire to take a better look at these headless eels.

  I continued my aimless walking, the valley I woke up into became wider as I crossed the red barren miles. Ahead of me was the belly of a starless sky casting down on a bigger space that sloped down to a thousand feet. I cleared the last mountainous neck and then, my senses took it in. A terrifying vista that spanned a whole other world, I saw black pools of people screaming in lakes of fire. Between the crowded holes, were crawling beings that ran on all fours.

  I gradually followed the path that brought me closer to the hellish pits. From behind a steaming crop of crumbling rock, I hid from the demons' eyes, their faces were curses to my sight. They slashed with curved blade-hands and stoked the human folk deep in the mouths of fire. Around me lay the scattered bodies of humans more bone than human, some cast like shattered rubble, some bodies hadn't the same luck and were snatched apart by the demonic quadrupeds.

  I rushed past a shallow ridge, protected from the wicked eyes that ruled the place. My mind remembered words of wicked horror you could only find in books. But they weren't damned enough to describe the land I saw. At one point, my hand was snatched by a moving husk, half buried in the fetid smelling dirt. I kicked the poor bastard into the mouth of red earth that swallowed him whole.

  My eyes took to the empty sky for a cleaner view. But I was wrong, Lonnie. Creatures bred from the devil were paroling the purest night, black wide wings with small horned heads. Their shrieks chilled the marrow in my bones. Everywhere I looked was a different shade of abomination.

  I could've walked for days, and most of the wailing folk didn't take against a live full body like me. Some were strangled by overgrown snakes eating them as they rolled in screams. Some were dancing among high columns of flame as their flesh melted off them.

  My walking became running from one chapter of horror to the other. Eventually, I found a unique clearing ranged with three high hills. Each had a colossal tall throne on its peak. In that instant I knew it was what I was looking for.”

  “So, what did they look like?” Lonnie said.

  “Each of the three tribunal members was a different type of monster. Their appearances speak to the wickedness you hide inside of you. One of the thrones had a fat child, hairless, pale as bone, with bulging ball eyes, he slumped with his creased stubby legs dangling from his high chair.

  The second was a different face of sin. A beautiful ebony haired woman, skin clear as milk, clothed in a laced black dress that stirred upon her perfect body. She had a crown of coiling serpents and spikes jutting from a bald darkened scalp . Her head looked more of a black smoldering sun with bright blazing eyes. Her look was menacing to the soul, yet I felt my body invited to her arms. She was the most beautiful terrible being I had ever seen.

  The last one was higher than the other two beasts. A giant man -If you could call him that- a gaunt figure wearing a tattered robe. His skin was grey and tight against his prominent bones, his teeth peeled out, exposing a line of uneven grey stones. I couldn't recognize a trace of flesh on him. He had no eyes, only two pits of pure black. When I looked into them it was as if I witnessed the most genuine face of death. Bone and skin abandoned by all life. I still can't reckon what wicked force animated the creature. It challenged every knowledge I had of evil.”

  "What did you ask ‘em?" Lonnie sat at the opposing chair, his voice rasped.

  "I asked for the demon's name."

  "And did they give it to you?"

  "Imagine how funny it is to visit Hell and still get the cold shoulder,” Thomas said with a sardonic grin.

  “Get to the gist of it!” Lonnie thundered, licking his lips.

  "I asked them several times before they made their first move, the massive skeleton man's voice came on me like cold wind, his mouth didn't move but I felt the words rushing from every crack and every stone, as if Hell spoke for him. It was an ancient language far older than the tongue of man. But somehow, I took in every word,"

  Thomas rose and moved about the room.

  “He said I wasn't worthy of his answer, something about my soul not being mine to offer. All I knew next is that my body was caught in fire,” Thomas gazed between the velvet green curtains, his face bathed in orange light.

  "I couldn't find the gate I came from, so I wandered around screaming with my body in flames. I noticed the damned folk homing in on a growing pit in the ground, I fought my way in and pushed every dry burnt body aside."

  "And?"

  “All I remembered next was myself standing butt-naked in some slumber party."

  "Let me guess, Ouija Board?" Lonnie asked.

  "It was the last speck of my luck. Poor girls will need therapy till their forties."

  Lonnie had a wry smile on his face then shifted to a more despondent look. "Was it worth it, Tom?"

  Tom remembered the fire rising again, only this time it seared him from inside "You know you can't ask me that."

  "Hell, yeah I can!" Lonnie sprang on his feet, facing Thomas square in the face. "Let me lay it for ya, flat and plain so your sorry ass might understand something for once. Me and Fitz could've died without you,” Lonnie didn't break eyes from Thomas, his face hard and flushed. “After all these years searching for this demon that killed your family, it's time for once you remembered the family you have left," Lonnie scoffed, "Think about the kid, he'll never get a fair chance for a normal life."

  He turned away. At the last moment, he launched one last derisive remark. "I could tell you to go to Hell, but you've been there already."

  Thomas pressed his lips, and rummaged through his mind for any words clear enough for his friend.

  "Lonnie, it's bigger than you think, so don't ask me to stop."

  Lonnie rushed back and halted close to Tom, holding him by the shoulders. "You've been looking for that Demon for two fricking centuries and still found nothing. How many times should you play dare with the devil and lose? I could stomach you as an asshole, but I sure as hell wouldn't stand you dead."

  Thomas felt the soft plea for mercy in his old friend's eyes. Then he looked past Lonnie's shoulder to see Fitz holding his lit phone screen.

  "Sorry, but y'all better read this."

  Thomas took the phone and read a local article about the satanic desecration of an old man's body in some recluse elderly home in Wyo
ming. What lured his attention was the artful abominable twisted state of the body, making it look like a bloodied cross - A deliberate sign from a demonic defiance.

  Thomas rubbed Lonnie's shoulder. "You've got your point, brother. But we'll have to discuss this later."

  He looked at Fitz, "I'll handle this one myself."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  **Professional care for your loved ones.**

  Thomas crunched the brochure from the local post office and shoved it deep in his pocket. The crumpled scrap of paper couldn't begin to capture the real essence of the nineteenth century guarded islet. Obscured between thick masses of green and ashy brown. Thomas let loose his first thoughts to roam about the place.

  Here it ends, the scent of evil. He thought .

  Still Water Sanctuary, tucked in the valley between the high bluffs bordering the ridges of Wyoming. It was a house of care for the senile, operated by men and women of the clergy. One of the very few institutions that avoid peruse governmental oversight. Its dull concrete walls rose in 1896. A two-floor building surrounded by nothing but isolating wilderness, matching its simple appearance. It was the perfect stage for twisted unspoken deeds. And the silent mountainous air would let you get away with it.

  Thomas padded on the gravel winding inside through the open gate. He glazed his view across the white building; Victorian revival style. The walls had lower tiers of ground stone while the upper levels were flaking grayish white paint. Arched windows guarded with black grills. A utilitarian design strict to the stone. No costs squandered on wasteful decoration. As if the recluse was made to acclimate its residents to the idea of their near-end.

  A stout guard tottered from behind a small shack, barely catching his wheezed breath.

  "May I help you, Sir?" the man asked.

  Thomas awoke from his reverie, "Good morning, sir. I am Thomas Arsen, from the NAEC. With whom should I speak in this fine establishment?"

  The guard wiped his face with a blue-checkered cloth. "Well, that would-be Sister Elizabeth, she runs the place. Allow me to call her for ya."

  "Thank you, Sir,"

  A few minutes later, a young frail nun came out wearing the traditional black attire. She approached with a pace of clouds. As she neared Thomas, he noticed the gleaming white line of her warm smile.

  "Good day, sir," the woman said in a mellow voice. "I am Sister Louise. Welcome to Still Water. How may I help?"

  "Thank you, sister. My name is Thomas Arsen. Could I speak to Sister Elizabeth?”

  “On what basis should I ask?” Her welcoming countenance smoothed her incisive question.

  “I'd hate to intrude, but it concerns the tragedy of Mr. Tuttle."

  Two blotches of pink grew from her wrapped cheeks. "Oh dear, Lord. Why yes, of course. Are you a relative?"

  "Well, actually, no. I am from the NAEC, an oversight agency that deals with the welfare of the elderly."

  A breath was caught between her lips.

  "Don't worry, sister, it's not what you think. We had already examined the case file. From our end, my employers need to conduct a rapid survey of the premise, without disturbing the guests, of course."

  The woman then calmly answered, "Well, I'd be happy to guide you through. You see, we're an independent institution Mr. Arsen, never been under official scrutiny."

  "I think we both agree the situation is anything than usual.” Thomas watched his words drown her in a pool of gloom. The light of her face vanished as her eyes trailed far off to an uncomfortable place.

  “Besides, it'll be over before you know it. More like a bureaucratic sweep to get the pen pushers happy. I wouldn't take a quarter of your day," Thomas said with an assuring tone.

  The woman returned to her relaxed expression. "Alright then, come with me Mr. Arsen."

  "Just call me Tom."

  The young nun led him through the main brushed metal door. Thomas examined every aspect of her face. She was increasingly familiar the deeper he stared her in her eyes. Her gaze was motherly and had a vague sense of pure congeniality. Her features were delicate; eyes slightly wide and drawn, her face was olive-shaped and perfectly framed with the black veil. She resembled a silver moon lit by iridescent gray eyes.

  They entered the long hallway lit by slanting casts of golden light shed from the open windows. The floor had a checkered black and white tiled floor. The whole establishment was eerily silent, and all they heard was the soft knocks of Thomas's hard-soled shoes. And the only living beings he saw were the hunched old guests who looked as if they hovered between the walls.

  Sister Louise didn't miss a chance to stop for each resident she crossed. Bestowing a brief smile, or a soft brush of her hand on their shoulders. Thomas noticed how her affect lingered on their faces, a fleeting brightness that lit by her brief presence.

  It didn't take long before they turned around a corner and saw that black and yellow ribbon marring the perfect monotony of the cream-white doors.

  "This is Mr. Tuttle's room," Louise said.

  "You say it as if he still lives here," Thomas wondered.

  “Oh yes, the spirits of our guests don't leave the place at once. I still place a candle every evening to guide him through. Poor child."

  Thomas knotted his brows.

  The nun reacted to his confusion. "We're all the Lord's children, Mr. Arsen, aren't you a man of faith?"

  Thomas felt her question cut deeper than what she'd want to know.

  "I am, Ma'am. It's just that I get tested too much."

  She gave him a soft swipe on the shoulder, "That means your faith is well guarded in your heart. You have nothing to fear."

  The nun was suddenly distracted by one of the tenants wandering off with an unfastened urinary bag, oozing its yellow contents on the gleaming floor.

  "Oh my!" The nun rushed to stop the old lady and hollered after one of the caregivers.

  Thomas used the commotion to lean down and beyond the guarding ribbon, and gave the door threshold a fast sweep. He caught fading curved lines of yellow sand caking the door's frame. Without anyone noticing him, he pinched from the residue and sniffed. It had a foul odor of rotten eggs, he instantly jerked his face away.

  "And who on Father's Heaven could you be?" A croaky voice came from above.

  Thomas craned to see the source of this raspy voice of reckoning. A looming image, lined with countless wrinkles, two glassy black eyes placed on the sides of a carved sharp nose, her face narrowed to a hooked chin.

  Thomas stood up and wiped his perfect black jacket. "You must be Sister Elizabeth."

  "And you might be?" she impatiently asked.

  "I am Thomas Arsen, a private investigator hired by the NAEC. Here's is my card."

  "I haven't heard of such a thing," she said with a scowl.

  Thomas lowered his face and tried to hide his smile. He offered further his card, accepting her challenge.

  "You can call them directly and they'll confirm that I'm supposed to be here."

  "I don't have to confirm anything. This intrusion should end at once."

  Thomas approached the old hag and whispered a soft promise.

  "Let's say it's better for me to come unannounced than a dozen media networks trying to make your establishment the hashtag of the day. And pray they don't use the word murder."

  The woman crinkled her forehead with eyes bulging at Louise who was locked in her own building anxiety. The younger nun's reddened face declared the extent of her dread.

  The old mistress lifted one eyebrow and said, "You have the rest of the day. Then I'll call the authorities."

  Thomas gave an obedient nod, "Yes, Ma'am."

  The old woman unleashed her fury on a smaller nun waiting with rubbing palms behind her shoulder.

  "You foolish girl, don't you know better than sneaking up on me like that?"

  "Pardon me, Mother," the small nun begged. "I came to tell you about the..." She stopped as she saw the boiling anger rising in her mistress's
eyes.

  Elizabeth shoved her by the elbow and whisked the poor girl away from stranger's eyes.

  Thomas peered past the distance and locked on Sister Elizabeth’s office.

  He beheld the old woman dragging her victim along with a powerful clutch on the helpless nun's garb. And the two vanished soon into some far-end private quarters.

  Louise sighed beside him, "Poor Marie, she should get used to that by now." She then turned to her guest.

  "So, in what way should I assist you further, Mr. Arsen?"

  "Oh, I can manage by myself now. Thank you for your generous time. I see you have your handful with...your children, I suppose."

  The young woman seemed delighted by the remark without catching on to his irony. "Well, just don't mind calling me if you need anything at all."

  Thomas agreed, and the polite woman went to see to her errands. He feigned his inspection about the victim's room, then he stowed himself under a dark wooden staircase.

  "Lonnie, it's me." He cupped his mouth close to the phone.

  A voice crackled, "Yes, Boss."

  "It's bad...I'm talking Hell grime all over the crime scene."

  Lonnie from the other end started cursing, "Oh shit!"

  "Any luck at the morgue?"

  "I am on my way right now. I'll call you as soon as I get something."

  "Keep me posted."

  Thomas then saw a cleaner washing the hallway floor. Thomas numbered the rooms on Mr. Tuttle's floor. 15 rooms with only 9 guests left. The other floor was for management and overnight staff. One-third of the dormitory floor hallway was wiped clean. Thomas took his far-fetched chance to weed out the perpetrator.

  Thomas walked to the female cleaner and the obese woman pointed with a silent menace at his feet. She shook her head and took on to mop his dirty trails. He pulled a small bottle and poured the murky brine mixture in the washing bucket, without the lady noticing.

  "Pardon me, Ma'am." He respectfully crawled by the wall and then peered inside the small slit windows on the room doors. He stumbled upon a room with an elderly man lying on his bed, tubes going through almost every orifice in his body. Thomas arched around and without a single squeak he carefully pushed his way in,