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.

New Eden Chronicles – The Animal Interlude - Chapter 2

Yesterday...

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Douglas blurts as he slams the phones handset down hard into its cradle nearly shoving the entire set-up off his desk. “This is all I need right now” he mutters to himself as he plops back into his chair suddenly realizing all eyes in the squad room are fixated on him. Shooting a stern glare back at the assemblage is all it takes to sever their gaze and put everyone back to work.

Police Captain Charles Douglas isn’t someone to be trifled with, and his people know it. A career military man, with time of service in various Special Forces units, the Captain had recently taken down a drugged out perp with a Swingline stapler from across the room. The guy was about to overpower one of his rookie deputies when the red steel stapler shot through the room like a missile striking the assailant square in the back of his head—sending him down for the count. Everyone who witnessed the incident swore the damn thing left a contrail as it streaked across the squad room. Impossible, of course, but it made for a colorful footnote to the story.

You'd think an episode like that would mandate a severe rebuke of all involved, and a refresher course on proper police procedure. Instead, Douglas barked, "someone make sure that damn stapler gets back on my desk—and wipe off the blood!"

Douglas believes in leading by example, and learning from your mistakes. He would later be overheard telling the Police Commissioner, "the kid screwed up, Morgan, but no one died."

"He may as well be dead!” Morgan shot back.

"Who?” Douglas asked.

"The perp!” shouted Morgan, so loud that Douglas pulled the phone away from his ear for a second. "That damn stapler drove a piece of skull deep enough into his brain that he'll be a retard at best for the rest of his life. What the hell were you thinking?" Morgan continued admonishingly.

"He was going for the rookie’s gun", said Douglas, "how in the hell would you of liked me to handle that situation?"

"Truthfully?” asked Morgan—somewhat condescendingly.

"Yes—truthfully", repeated Douglas, echoing the Commissioner's tone.

"Shoot the bastard next time!" Morgan paused—"that's off the record of course."

"Of course" said Douglas, again dittoing the Commissioner's response, and tone. "And that would have been an option if I had been stapling my reports with my sidearm."

That comment pretty much ended the phone call. A week later a similar situation arose during a prisoner transfer to a Royal Canadian Mounted Police unit from neighboring Ontario. Just as the RCMP had taken control of the prisoner he knocked one officer to the ground and managed to relieve the other of his weapon. The Captain quickly drew his Glock 32C and without hesitation delivered a single slug dead center of the thug’s forehead. As the lifeless form crumpled to the floor, Douglas holstered his weapon and barked at the stunned group of his people “Somebody get those Mounties a bucket and a mop!” Then glowering at the two shaken blood splattered Mounties “You clean that shit up and get the hell out of my city!”

Week’s later skull fragments and dried brain matter are still turning up in various parts of the squad room—but there was no phone call—not that time.

In the earliest days of New Eden, Douglas’ four precincts and one hundred police officers under his command mostly stood around twiddling their thumbs. Other than an occasional parking ticket or traffic violation there wasn’t so much as even a hint of an actual crime being committed in this city. It was strange; strange enough that Douglas considered quitting many times over the years. Even once asking the Founder “What the hell do you need me for, Adam? You could put a boy scout troop leader in charge of this city.” As was always the case Adam had a way of convincing him, and everyone else for that matter, to see things his way. Even though Adam had persuaded Douglas to stick around he never really liked Adam’s response.

“We will,” Adam had said, “one day Douglas, we will need you.”

It was two years after that conversation that Adam Graham disappeared without a trace. In the weeks leading up to Adam’s disappearance Douglas had needed to promote some of his officers to investigators because there had been a crime. A transient had wandered into town undetected and mugged a resident. A few days later he promoted a couple more after a robbery was reported; another transient, another crime. Then, the day before it was discovered Adam Graham was missing, an assault and battery was reported, and two more made the jump to investigator.

The next day Adam was nowhere to be found—and the city erupted. All at once, synonymous with its birth, New Eden burst out of the picturesque image of perfection it had enjoyed for so many years; and suddenly New Eden needed Douglas—just like Adam had predicted.

New Eden’s first mysterious death occurred three weeks later, late in Douglas’ nineteenth year on the job. The scene was so grisly that everyone was convinced it was an animal attack. And that’s how it was written off—at first. The victim had been torn to shreds. Blood spatter and tattered flesh surrounded the body like confetti. It was everywhere. There was barely enough left to verify the find as human, let alone make a positive identification.

A medical examiner was brought in from a neighboring city and she attributed the attack to a pack of wolves, wild dogs, or possibly a bear. Only none of those animals were indigenous to New Eden; nor had any been seen or heard in the days prior to, or following the attack.

The victim turned out to be Bob Morgan, Police Commissioner Robert “Bob” Morgan who in Adam Graham’s absence was looked to as the de facto leader of New Eden.

Like Douglas, Bob Morgan had been a career military man before joining the New Eden Police Department; they had even served together. Morgan was once a national champion collegiate wrestler, and highly capable combat veteran. At 59 years of age he could still best ninety percent of the department in hand-to-hand combat, and half of those two and three men at a time. A fact he boasted about quite often. It was a hard to pill for Douglas to swallow that whatever got Bob Morgan got away without a fight. But when all the blood, flesh, hair, and DNA evidence had been analyzed it all belonged to Morgan.

No evidence of what had gotten to him. No eye witnesses. No one had even heard a sound. A 6’-3” man weighing 225 pounds was savaged by something in the middle of the night, on a populated street, and no one heard or saw anything. It was strange.

Strange was a word Douglas often used throughout his tenure in New Eden. How New Eden itself came into being was strange enough. It was strange that absolutely no crimes of any significance were committed here during Douglas’ first nineteen and three-quarter years of command. It wasstrange that things started to unravel in the weeks preceding Adam’s disappearance. It was strangethe first person to die mysteriously in New Eden was the Police Commissioner and acting Founder. And it was strange when the second body found, and the three after that, were all New Eden officials who were in succession to Bob Morgan as interim leader. Douglas’ realization was that not only was there a murderer in New Eden, but that Adam Graham may have been the first victim.

It was a brief conversation with New Eden’s Sanitation Director, the last remaining city official, which convinced him to bypass his office in the city hierarchy and give the reigns of power over to Captain Douglas—thereby making himself the target.

A very public press conference was called so the announcement was certain to reach the animal responsible for these murders. Although not publically acknowledged by the police department that during the preceding eight weeks each and every acting Founder or city leader had been savagely murdered, the New Eden press had overtly speculated that was the case. During which time the press had transitioned from using “animal” as a description of the person responsible for these ferocious murders to Animal as the moniker for a serial killer.

The day after Douglas’ announcement a package arrived at his desk. He eyed it cautiously as a sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Even before the bomb squad had determined it wasn’t an explosive, or biological weapon Douglas knew the contents. The hand scrawled note that accompanied the package was barely legible even though it only contained three words— “Now your turn”.

Douglas surmised the box contained what was left of the Sanitation Director. Although it would take days for the DNA to confirm that for certain one thing was evident; the Animal knew the city hierarchy also.

Now, still staring at the phone, Douglas was trying hard to grasp what he'd just heard at the other end of that conversation. "This city has gone absolutely bat shit crazy!” he thought to himself. It had been ninety-three days since the Founder disappeared without a trace. In that time numerous crimes, both violent, and non violent were escalating exponentially with no apparent end in site. It was as if Adam was the glue that held New Eden together. And once that “glue” had vanished—New Eden quickly fell apart.

And to top things off, Douglas just learned Adam’s own spiritual leader, Father Nathan Darke, had apparently himself—just committed a murder.

New Eden Chronicles - The Animal Interlude

What follows is my first attempt at "publishing" a fictional story. In as much as a Facebook Note is publishing that is. I've been laboring over this draft for so long trying to make it perfect that I almost scrapped the whole idea altogether. But as with my previous non-fiction notes I have to look at this as an exercise toward developing my writing style, and not an endeavor to write the next "War and Peace". If you feel inclined to do so I would enjoy hearing feedback from anyone who would like to give it. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.

Giving credit where credit is due I would like to say my version of the setting for this story is based on a creation by my friend Victor DiGiovanni some 26 years ago in Sulphur, Louisianna, and the villain from a character created by Jenifer Boone Lybrand.

Introduction

Although the name New Eden shouldn't conjure images of darkness or corruption it's important to note this is the current state of being, and not its origin. During most of New Eden’s first two decades it was an abundant untroubled place. All that came to live and work there were successful in their ventures and enjoyed a happy fruitful existence. There was no crime, sickness, unemployment, homelessness, unhappiness, or even death. It was in every sense of the word—Eden. Throughout most of those first twenty years so many marveled at New Eden’s miraculous birth, and continuous prosperity, while only a very few knew the dire portent of its existence—or that of its Founder, Adam Graham.

For two decades and a day ago, New Eden didn’t exist.

Prologue

New Eden’s twentieth Founders Day has come without celebration—and without its Founder. Adam Graham disappeared without a trace three months earlier and with him went New Eden’s innocence. It was as if almost two decades of crime and misery had been unleashed like a flood upon a city whose worst criminal offense up until that day had been a parking ticket. If it was a single apple that delivered sin unto the Garden of Eden then the residents of New Eden must have consumed an entire orchard that day….

Chapter 1

Douglas could feel the life draining from his crumpled form as he lay in a crimson sea of his own blood. In a final attempt at self preservation he tries to shift his body so the gaping wound in his left side is pressed hard against the cold stone floor. Wracked with pain from the effort, Douglas quickly losses consciousness….

Seemingly hours later, Douglas awakes and the crimson sea now resembles a reddish mud. Lying with his back against the wall, his left side to the hard stone floor, coagulated blood now surrounds the wound. At the time he had thought this a fleeting attempt to prolong his life, but it appears the bleeding has stopped; Douglas now lay stuck to the hard stone floor. Consciousness fades again….

Struggling for a breath, Douglas awakes with a jerk and expels a lung full of blood. The thick salty liquid had been pooling in his throat and mouth slowly choking out his breath. He was able to seal his external wounds for now, but during the Animal’s vicious attack razor sharp claws had penetrated deep into his flesh lacerating his lungs, and esophagus. The internal bleeding was filling his filling his chest cavity, squeezing his organs like a dishwasher wringing out a sponge, and seeping into his throat and lungs. There was nothing he could do about this. He was drowning in his own blood with no hope to stop the internal bleeding, no way to save himself— not now; unconsciousness….

The ear piecing scratching noise in the distance invaded Douglas’ unconscious mind forcing him to awaken once more. Like fingernails on a chalkboard the sound impales his senses sending a cold chill throughout his ravaged form, and forces his burning blood soaked eyes open. Douglas can barely focus in the dim glow of dozens of candles now spilling their light into the cavernous chamber before him.

Douglas had responded to an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city based on an anonymous tip with only a small flashlight and his sidearm as back-up. “Stupid—I knew better!” he thinks to himself as he lay reflecting on the events that had gotten him to this point. In the basement of the building he discovered an open trapdoor in the floor and descended a flight of rickety wooden stairs into a dank musty sub basement. Directly adjacent to the staircase a stone corridor revealed itself and Douglas followed it to an arched doorway at its end. He had barely passed through that opening when the Animal struck from behind. In the ferocity of that onslaught the enormity of the space Douglas had entered was lost on him. His last recollection before he blacked-out from the attack was the frightening physical appearance of the Animal himself.

Now, following the sound with his eyes, Douglas’ gaze falls first on a familiar black object that lay just outside the reach of his outstretched arm—his pistol. Beyond that, another hundred feet or so with his back to him stands the Animal. His tall sinewy form, long black stringy hair, and cadaverous completion, are barely more visible than a shadow in the faint light, but are indelibly etched into Douglas’ mind. The Animal’s initial savage attack had been brief, at best, but before Douglas lapsed into unconsciousness the beast had pressed him hard against the wall, looked him dead in the eyes, inhaled deeply through flaring nostrils as if drawing in Douglas’ scent, then chillingly proclaimed— “You smell of death”.

The scratching sound Douglas hears is that of the mechanical claws the Animal wears on each hand as he uses them to inscribe something into the stone wall. As the shimmering candlelight light wafts across the walls Douglas can see the inscriptions appear to cover most of the visible wall surface, but it is much too far away, and much too dark for him to make out their meaning.

Shifting his attention back to the pistol in front of him, Douglas extends his fingers trying desperately to reach the grip. “Still a little too far”, he thinks to himself. Turning his palm flat to the stone surface Douglas digs in his nails and tries to claw his hand toward the weapon. His arm inches forward slightly, his body shifts with it riveting him with immense pain as his world suddenly fades to black—perhaps for the last time….

"I'm still alive", Douglas thinks to himself as his mind edges back toward consciousness. No longer hearing the scratching sound he again wonders how long he has been out—and what the Animal is up to now. He opens his eyes struggling once more to focus. It is quiet now except for his own labored breathing. Gone is the light from the dozens of candles that barely illuminated the area where the Animal dutifully incised the stone wall. In their stead a single candle now burns in the middle of the room illuminating a very tiny sphere of the enormous space. The inscriptions, the walls, and the Animal have all receded into the darkness.

"What is he waiting for?" Douglas thinks to himself. "Just finish me off dammit!" He tries to scream the words but manages only a barely audible gurgle as a gush of red fluid races forth from his mouth along with the words. Dropping his gaze from the single candle he eyes the weapon once more only mere inches from his fingers—and notices the fresh pool of blood surrounding it. His last attempt to reach his sidearm had obviously reopened the gash on his side and he was bleeding profusely. He wonders now, even if he could reach the pistol, whether or not he has the strength to pull the trigger.

Douglas also realizes he feels nothing at this point; not his arms; not his legs; not the blood pouring from his body; not the pain that permeated every fiber of his being—nothing—nothing but coldness.

Resolute to his fate Douglas’ attention treads momentarily to another place and time, then is snatched back just as suddenly as his eyes catch sight of a dark silhouette slowly creeping into his field of vision from the right—from the corridor. As the figure nears, Douglas’ body is enveloped in the shadow of the towering black form lowering itself beside him. Unable to move his head, Douglas can only tell the figure is dressed in black, and not the tattered scraps that the Animal wears. “Who is this?” he asks himself. Douglas feels warm fingers against his neck as the figure reaches to check his pulse, then extends his other hand to retrieve Douglas’ weapon. He watches as the figure quickly discharges the magazine for an ammo check, replaces it, then draws the slide back to be sure a round has been chambered. “Whoever this is he knows his way around a weapon.” Douglas admires silently. Then the stranger places the weapon in Douglas’ hand. He tenses, and tries to say something but the figure leans toward him and speaks softly into the air.

"Shh—this will all be over soon."

There is comfort in the tone of this man's voice, and familiarity in his manner. This is not the Animal—nor is it one of Douglas' men. The stranger stands drawing himself up to his full height and makes his way slowly toward the light as if daring the Animal to reveal himself.

"Don't!" Douglas manages, but far too softly for him to hear. The man is weaponless, as near as he can tell, and it’s Douglas’ hope the gun placed in his hand by this man is not his only means of protection against the Animal.

As the stranger nears the glimmer of light surrounding the candle, Douglas realizes who it is that has come to his aid. The dark figure, the stranger, the towering black form that handled Douglas’ weapon like a seasoned professional is none other than the priest he’d come to this place to look for—Father Nathan Darke.

Through burning watery eyes Douglas watches as Nathan Darke, now standing in that puny orb of light, seems to change in form and dress from the dark clad figure of a man in his late fifties to that of a younger man clad in a long coat and attire that appears to be from centuries past. Douglas assumes it’s a trick of the light, or he is finally losing his mind.

Summoning every last bit of strength he has, and fighting against pain, and unconsciousness, Douglas raises his weapon to aim at the priest.

Suddenly—the Animal strikes—Douglas fires...!