New Eden Chronicles – The Animal Interlude - Chapter 4

A thin veil of smoke hangs in the air above the sanctuary like a low lying cloud, and a thick sulfurous smell permeates the senses as Douglas and his men step through the threshold of The First Catholic Church of New Eden. Douglas’ newly formed forensics team is already on the scene collecting evidence by the time they had arrived.

With the eminent threat of the Animal ever present since Douglas inserted himself into the leadership role of New Eden he never went anywhere without his six bodyguards. They were some of his best people who, by committee, had decided until the Animal was stopped Douglas was not to be alone.

Although it was a pain in the ass for him, Douglas had gone along with the idea if for no other reason than to humor his men. After all, while capable, these six men guarding him combined had far less experience and ability than he himself. Nor had they ever seen combat. And not if, but when the Animal struck, it would be combat.

As Douglas passed through the narthex and walked down the nave flanked on either side by row after row of long benches for the parishioners, his men peeled off and took up positions throughout the sanctuary where they could remain vigilant while giving the Captain his space.

Father Dixon Grant, a short portly man with crown of hair which made him resemble a monk more than a priest, stood at the lectern on the opposite side of the church confessionals and at the bottom of the long sloping isle. He was still visibly shaken and glanced up at the approaching Douglas for just a fraction of a second as he continued his recounting to Douglas’ lead investigator, Thomas Lake, of what had transpired within the church just shortly over an hour ago.

At first glance, other than the smoky haze and smell of sulfur, the church was pristine. Douglas stopped a few feet short of the two men and listened as Father Grant continued. When Douglas’ man realized the Captain was there he looked up long enough to lock eyes with him, then glanced back over his left shoulder and motioned to the opposite corner when the confessionals were located. Douglas turned and walked toward that side of the church.

As he rounded the corner of the outer most rows of benches a debris field came into view. Where once there had stood an ornate confessional booth all that remained was a smoldering remnant of that structure. The portion that was where the priest, Father Darke, had sat was all but intact. The other half, where the confessor had been seated, was completely destroyed having left an arc shaped scattering of remains, both debris—and human.

“A shape charge—” Douglas said to himself but loud enough for one of his nearest forensics investigators to hear.

“I’m sorry sir?” Lieutenant Morris quickly asked, cutting the Captain off in mid sentence.

“A shape charge,” Douglas said once again with a hint of aggravation in his tone this time because he didn’t think he should have had to repeat himself, “and a sophisticated one at that.” he continued finishing his thought this time.

“Yes sir—sorry sir—I thought that’s what you had said.” said Morris. “The debris pattern suggests just that, but looking at the manual it’s so uniformed that—”

Douglas didn’t need a damn manual to know what the hell he was looking at, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with these greenhorns who did. Throwing up a hand to silence Morris Douglas said, “Continue gathering the evidence Lieutenant, and give me your report later.”

Morris didn’t speak, but just nodded his head and went back to work.

Douglas surveyed the damage, which was minimal, except to the booth and the poor bastard that had been sitting in it. The blast had radiated out with power and precision unlike anything Douglas had ever seen; and yet somehow contained the extent of the destruction to a limited radius around the confessional. What remained of the booth, and the man, was pulverized.

"If Nathan Darke was responsible then there was much more to the good Father than anyone knew."Douglas thought to himself.

Having seen what he needed to Captain Douglas turned and walked back toward Father Grant. His investigator had just finished with the Father and Douglas wanted to hear for himself what had happened.

"Father Grant, I am—"

Grant interrupts and extends a hand, "I know who you are, Captain Douglas. I may have only been in New Eden for a few months now but your reputation precedes you."

Douglas smiles slightly as he reciprocates shaking the priests hand. "Well, Father, reputations are a difficult thing to live up to—unless of course it's a bad reputation you're referring to?"

Father Grant chuckles and says, "No, not at all. Good—tough—but definitely good."

Douglas allows another rye smile before he cuts to the chase, "I know you've spoken with my investigator but I wanted to hear for myself what happened."

"The short version is that Nathan Darke killed that man." Father Grant says, his expression changing dramatically.

"You're certain of this?" asks Douglas obviously puzzled by Grant's directness.

"Without a doubt." the priest said looking down. "Nathan was expecting—him. I watched them enter the booth—then I could hear the man confessing his sins. I couldn't make out exactly what he was saying—not at first. I assume Nathan was unresponsive because the man got much louder—even screaming. He went from confessing, to blaspheming, to pounding on the walls and door. Then Nathan stepped from the booth and walked toward me. Behind him the door was rattling and apparently locked. I started toward the booth but Nathan put his arm on my shoulder and stopped me. He looked me in the eye and said—wait." Grant looks back up at Douglas, then past him to toward the remnants of the booth. "Then the whole thing erupted—in an instant! I dove for cover expecting a rush of air, a shower of debris, a flash of intense heat—but there was nothing. When I got up and the smoke was clearing—Nathan was gone."

"What do you think led to this?" asked Douglas.

"Captain, I am very familiar with New Eden's past distinction, and while New Eden may have been free of crime for all those years—it was not free of sin." Grant disclosed. "One of the first things Nathan Darke confided in me was that throughout his entire tenure here he has taken untold thousands of confessions."

"Confessions of crimes?" Douglas asked looking somewhat taken aback.

"Not of crimes committed," Grant says, "mostly crimes considered, impure thoughts, and urges that the confessors fought against daily." then looking up at the Captain, Grant continues, "That is until three months ago when the thoughts and urges overtook their will. Nathan Darke's confessionals were deluged with parishioners and people he'd never seen who suddenly had lost the power of self-control." Grant turned his back to Douglas , lowered his head, and stepped a few feet away. This was obviously difficult for him to discuss. Looking up Father Grant's gaze fell upon the shattered remains of the booth once more and he continued, "By the time I had arrived here, just days after the craziness began, Nathan had already been at it twenty-four hours a day for over a week—he was spent."

"So, Father Darke's struggles began before Adam's disappearance?" Douglas questioned.

"Nathan Darke's struggles, Captain Douglas, began the day he came to New Eden." Grant said.

Douglas starts, but is interrupted by one of his men, Sergeant Grayson.

"Captain—Captain Douglas—you need to see this right away!", says Grayson.

Sensing the urgency in his voice Douglas turns and heads toward Grayson and asks, "What is it?" Father Grant falls in step with him and the three of them head off toward the priest's rectory.

"We were combing the entire church looking for evidence," Grayson says, talking fast, then pauses to catch a breath, "but weren't having much luck until we got to Father Darke's rectory—" pausing again.

"And?" asks Douglas, somewhat annoyed, and thinking he shouldn't have to.

"And—" Grayson continues, "you just have to see for yourself."

As the three approach the door Grayson's partner recedes from the small space to make room for the men. Grayson steps to one side and lets Douglas and Father Grant walk past him and into Nathan's rectory. Douglas stops just beyond the door and quickly scans the rooms contents with a discerning eye as Father Grant, stopped his tracks, and stares in stunned disbelief.

The walls and ceiling of the rectory are adorned with banners, flags and uniforms representing numerous Special Forces branches of not only the United States military, but of its allies'—and enemies as well. Equipment, weapons, ammo boxes, and trophies lie scattered about the room in a sort of organized clutter. A small wooden coffee table by the bed had doubled as a work bench and still had Nathan's bomb making tools and materials splayed out on it.

"What does all this mean?" Grant finally manages probably not even realizing he was speaking out loud.

Captain Douglas had done several tours of duty himself working alongside, and in conjunction with, numerous Special Forces branches. He knew what he was looking at went well beyond your run of the mill Green Beret, SEAL, or Airborne combat vet. The trophies, equipment, weapons, and the skills necessary to build that bomb screamed Black Ops.

"Can I ask you something, Father?" Douglas asks, ignoring Grant's question completely.

Grant pushes the cobwebs out of his head and turns to Douglas to respond, "Yes—of course." he says.

"I've noticed throughout our entire conversation you never once referred to Nathan Darke as Father—why is that?" Douglas asks while looking Grant in the eye.

"Because—" Grant pauses momentarily.

Whether it's to gather his thoughts, or make certain he's choosing his words properly—Douglas isn't sure.

Grant continues, "because there is no record of a Nathan Darke ever being confirmed as a Catholic priest." Another pause, then Father Grant says, "Nor is there any indication that the First Catholic Church of New Eden was ever sanctioned by the Church."

"Then what brought you here?" Douglas asks, "I mean, if you didn't know of the church, or the man—then what?"

"An email—we—the church that is—received an email." says Grant.

"From who?" asks Douglas, taking a step toward Father Grant.

"It was anonymous. Well—signed with an A." Grant says.

"A—" Douglas repeats—pondering the letter, then it hits him, "Adam." he says.

New Eden Chronicles – The Animal Interlude - Chapter 3

“Looking for a good time—father?”

The question echoes in Nathan’s mind as he glances at the young woman. She is in her late teens, or at least that is what he chooses to believe. Like so many young women, runaways, who ended up in the big city with dreams of becoming an actress, she had probably turned to prostitution to feed herself.

It had been some time since Nathan had entertained the thought of having sex, and even longer since he had actually been with a woman. “I don’t have any money,” he said studying her face. She was pretty, maybe even beautiful, he thought to himself? Under the heavy makeup and dark circles around her eyes, probably from drug use, she was beautiful.

“Are you really a priest?” she asked looking as if the answer really didn’t matter to her.

Nathan thought about that as they stood looking at one another. Yes, he wore the clothes of a priest, had been trained as a priest, and for the past twenty years had lived the life of a priest. So much had been sacrificed throughout those years because of one fleeting moment in time—one gut reaction—one mistake that changed his life forever.

Not so unlike this young woman, he thought to himself, who stood before him propositioning a man dressed as a priest. She had at some point made the decision to leave the life she had behind. And because of that, and for whatever reason, that one decision became her mistake. Now, here they stood. A woman dressed as a prostitute propositioning a man dressed as a priest and all Nathan could manage was, “Are you really a prostitute?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, but you could tell she wasn’t proud of it.

“Then I’m a priest,” said Nathan. As he turned to walk away she reaches out to him brushing his arm with her hand and says, “Maybe we can help each other?”

Considering what she was saying Nathan asks, “How?”

Looking up with at him with her eyes and head tilted down she slides her index finger into the V-neck of her top and softly pulls it to one side exposing her self just a little to entice him. “I can do something for you if you will do something for me?”

For the first time Nathan can see the street smart prostitute side of this young woman. She has made her target and will use her assets, her only assets, to reel him in. The shy innocent young woman with hopes and dreams of becoming a famous actress and owning this town had been replaced by the homeless junkie turned to prostitution to support her habit.

Just as he had come to New Eden twenty years ago with the prospect of saving souls and had his hopes dashed when the only souls he was saving didn’t deserve it in his opinion. Now, here he was faced again with yet another soul that needed saving, yet another soul that had made her own bed and should have to lie in it—or be buried with it.

So why shouldn’t he get something out of it for a change? After all, once he took off the clothes that made him a priest wasn’t just the man left? He had given so much without expectation since becoming a priest, and they had all accepted without offering restitution. This time was different, though, this time the restitution was coming in anticipation of his help. No matter what she wanted of him he would accept her offer first. “Ok.” He said, spoken simply and direct without even a hint of regret in his voice. “Where do we go from here?”

“I have a room in this building.” She says looking behind her, as she reaches for Nathan’s hand and leads him through the entrance.

There had been a slight breeze outside making the night air cool and bearable, but there was no breeze inside this building. No air conditioning, no fans—not even an open window. This building, like so many older buildings in the city, had that dank feel and musky smell, like mold, urine and rat feces all mixed in some gruesome concoction and sprayed on the walls and floors. There was no elevator, of course, and the stairs creaked and moaned with every step.

As they made their way toward the fifth floor Nathan began to wonder about his decision. After all, what sort of woman would proposition a priest in the first place? This woman, this whore had a lot of nerve to approach him during this most vulnerable time in his life. He had been struggling with being a priest for some time and this day had been particularly difficult. When he ran out into the street to get away he never imagined it would end up like this. As a matter of fact he could barely remember the confrontation that had caused his hurried exit.

Purging that thought from his mind he again focused on the young lady leading him up the stairs. She had managed to get a few steps ahead of him and for the first time he turned his attention to her body. The short tight red mini she wore hid very little of her shapely figure. Her long legs were very toned like that of a gymnast or runner. A firm tight ass filled out the back of the dress, and with no panty lines he imagined she was wearing a thong or no panties at all. Strong shoulders and toned arms led him to believe she had been an athlete.

In his younger days, before he became a priest, even before he became, became what lead him to the priesthood in the first place, he had liked that kind of woman. He himself had been an athlete. In high school and college he had his pick of women, mostly cheerleaders or high society types, always beautiful, always built.

She fumbled for her keys in the little clutch purse she carried with her. Nathan wondered why she even bothered to lock the door. It was weak, cracked in several places, and wouldn’t take too much effort to break down if someone really wanted to. She opened the door to her apartment, if it was even hers. He presumed it belonged to her pimp or dealer and was used by several girls on any given night.

It was a small corner apartment. The kitchen was a single counter along the side facing the alley. The living area faced the main street and had a fold out couch and a double window that looked down on the street. The opposite wall had a bathroom with a sink, toilet and shower. The hardwood floors were scratched and worn with small colorful, but dirty throw rugs of various shapes and sizes scattered about the floor like giant pieces of confetti leftover from some long forgotten celebration. Other than the fold out couch the compact apartment was completely absent of furniture. No table to eat at, no chairs to sit in, and no television to watch. It was clear this space had a singular purpose.

“Make yourself comfortable—father,” she said in an innocent childlike voice Nathan imagined it turned most of her clients on. That, coupled with her youthful appearance gave the illusion of an under age girl. As he studied her closer he thought this may not be an illusion at all. He would put that thought out of his mind. An agreement had been made. There would be an exchange. She would give herself freely to him and in return he would help her—with—something.

“But what?” Nathan thought to himself. He hadn’t considered what her request might be. At this point it didn’t matter. After what he had been through today not much of anything mattered to him anymore. Nathan made his way over to the pull-out bed and sat at the foot facing the young woman. She had just turned off the light and was moving slowly toward him unbuttoning her top with every step. He would get what he came for, and then honor her request. As her top hit the floor, and her knee rested on the bed, she leaned forward and whispered into Nathan’s ear, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...” The words repeated themselves in rapid succession over and over again in Nathan’s head. So much so that Nathan loses complete focus on the situation at hand. As she pulls his jacket back over his shoulders the next five words she speaks don’t even register with Nathan at all—that is until he feels the sudden stabbing pain in his right side. “I have killed many men.”she had said.

Her attack had been shrewd, indeed. After binding his arms with his own jacket she had plunged a long needle sharp hairpin deep into his side. He knew she had targeted the kidney, which she would have hit if it wasn’t for the fact Nathan’s right kidney had been removed as a result of a gunshot wound. His misfortune would become her ultimate mistake.

The pain brought him back to reality, and just in time. The second hairpin, this time aimed at Nathan’s left kidney, had just pierced the skin when he reached across and grabbed her wrist to stop the attack. With a powerful snap of his arm Nathan slings the young woman off the bed and she slams to the floor a few feet away from the fold-out bed. Nathan stands and rolls his shoulders forward to pull the coat back up into place. Reaching to his right side he pulls the long needle sharp hairpin slowly out of the wound. Holding it up he eyes it and a trickle of blood—his blood—runs down the length.

The young woman, clutching her shoulder, which is obviously dislocated, slowly gets to her feet in front of him. “You won’t kill me … I know you won’t!” voice cracking as she speaks, “You’re a God damn priest … you—won’t—kill—me!”

Nathan eyes her as he steps closer, “You’re correct” he says looking her dead in the eyes, “I will not be responsible for your death tonight.”

In obvious pain, tears welling up in her eyes, she still manages a slight, but relieved smile.

“The fall will kill you!” Nathan says. Even before the words had finished departing his lips Nathan had lunged forward and clamped his powerful right hand around her throat with such force her feet left the floor. Continuing the same motion Nathan twists his body back toward the fold-out under the window; the woman’s feet whirling around slightly behind her body. Nathan takes one great step toward the window and hurls the prostitute forward like a human shot put. Her body first levels out and then folds over with arms and legs out-stretched as her back smashes through the window.

Whether from pure shock, or utter disbelief, the young woman never manages to scream until just before her body crashes five stories into the pavement below.