chapter SIX
Mike
I sat in a hospital room, wearing one of those little blue backless gowns and counting the dots on the ceiling tiles. A cool breeze from the AC found its way up and around every crack and crevasse my aging body had to offer. It had always amazed me how those little black dots contrasting against the stark white of the tiles always caught my attention. I had been out of shape my whole life, and had consequently spent a lot of time in tiny hospital rooms and I was pretty sure I had wasted more time counting them then any man should.
My back was throbbing, the smell of alcohol floating all around me. Nobody in my entire life had ever looked at me and thought that I was a tough bastard, but they should be considering the pain I endured tonight. I had thought that the sting of my wound was unbearable, but that was before I felt the searing from it being cleaned. It felt like sand paper being ripped across my balls, but even though my eyes teared up I didn't cry out. I just grinned and took it like a man, like my father had taught me. The nurse called it a war wound in my fight to save the world from darkness, but even though I knew she was trying to lighten the mood, I saw the irony in it. These men were murdered for a reason I can only guess, but I couldn’t even give them their last rites. Cops are meant to save lives and I was meant to save souls. We both failed tonight. The eighteen stitches I had gotten seemed like such a large number.
I wasn't a suspect, yet there were police waiting for me drinking horrid hospital coffee with clumpy powdered milk and sour looks upon their faces. I had seen hundreds of dead bodies, but almost all of them had been natural, explainable causes. Tonight was the second time in my life as a priest that I had felt a death was caused by something truly evil. I believe in God and the Devil, but true supernatural evil has always been just a story or legend to me until recently. What happened to those poor men couldn't have been done by something human. Not that I don't believe there aren't men capable of such acts, I just didn’t think enough sick bastards would come together to kill that many men on the same night in the same horrible way. It reminded me of Nathaniel’s death. We had to have a closed casket at his funeral because of the condition his body was in. It wasn’t just a dead body to me either, but a close friend who I had thought would outlive me. The image of how his limbs were hacked away and the deep, charred holes where his warm brown eyes used to be still haunted me. I had always thought it was strange that the church advised us to talk to a psychiatrist. It seemed like trading faith for science, but lately I had been thinking that I needed to work through the image of an old friend that chased me in my dreams and with what had just happened, my personal demons had company.
“It seems like you’ve had an exciting day, Father Mike,” the redheaded nurse said as she entered the room. “I think you’ll survive, though.” Smiling, she giggled and said “It looks like there really is an angel on your shoulder,” before leaving the room.
I don’t know why, but I lingered in the room for much longer then I should have. I didn’t have anything to be nervous about as a creature of habit, and today I simply followed my routine like every other day with the added exception of finding a dead body. Once I was fully dressed I took a deep breath and walked through the doors. Each step I took felt like I was walking towards death row. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like every eye in the place was staring at me as if I had killed those sailors rather than just stumbled onto the aftermath.
I tried to decide what would happen next as I walked through the cold, sterile-looking corridor. My simple existence hadn't prepared me for any of this. I pulled out my phone, thinking I should call a lawyer, but then I realized I didn't have one. Of course I knew lawyers. Plenty of them in fact, but what exactly could I say to them? Staring down at my phone, I saw two missed calls from Irene and several from Jenny. I knew why Irene called. They were having some kind of party where all the fancy management types get together and kiss her fiancé’s ass. It was simple economics. He was stealing everything her cousin had built and whether you liked the guy or not, if you wanted to stay it was time to pucker up. I was expected to drop to one knee and give it an extra bit of passion, seeing that half of all our yearly donations came from her family. As much as I hated it, that money made a lot of our community programs possible and I had to swallow my pride for the greater good. Irene always seemed to ask me if was she doing the right thing and there was no good answer. She would pick and choose between everything I would say until she found a way to twist the words in a way that would make her feel better about distorting her cousins vision and trade the good for what she wanted. She was young though, and I guess wanting love isn't the worst thing a woman can sell everything out for.
I looked down at Jenny's name written in flashing red letters. Several calls generally meant that her and Wilson were at war again. It seemed like they were always in some kind of battle these days. Seemed like Jenny was blind to a number of things. Like many of the men Jenny met, I adored her. I always have and not just as her friend or a priest, but as the man inside me. I never had the courage to make a move though, and there was always a reason why I couldn't. First, she had been with Renaud, then she had had her secret affair with Harrow and Renaud needed me, and finally when she had sold herself to Wilson. It seemed like all I had ever done was love her in silence from afar.
That was my role in her life. The fat friendly go to guy who made her feel better about the mess she made of her life. I have always had that special skill. It was a damn useless one, really. Well, at least for personal gain. If ever a woman needed some encouragement or needed a man to see the best in her, she’d come to me. If her father wasn’t proud of her or she had daddy issues, good old Mike could always find the best in her. If she couldn’t commit to making her boyfriend feel loved, I was there to help her feel better about it. If she didn’t think she was loved, Mike was the man to make it all better. Good old Father Mike. Most lean on me until they are strong enough, or outgrew their need for my reassurance and move on, but not Jenny. She wasn’t truly a bad person she simply never saw past her needs. If she was depressed, it was all about her need for reassurance, and she always seemed to feel depressed. No one man could deal with it all, except for good old Mike. I’d like to think that Wilson tried, but even though he had a clear attachment to her he had never earned her love. He had merely bought her companionship. The only thing probably stronger then love was the terms of a business deal, with all of its demands and expectations.
As of late though, I had been thinking that I had outgrown her. Love is a gift and like all gifts, if it wasn’t appreciated it would begin to fade. I used to think that true love was endless. I had always thought that my love was as strong as Renaud's, with the only difference being he was publicly broken by it and I kept my affection tucked away out of sight. I thought that I could be happy with just being a part of her life, but lately I saw it as more of a curse than anything else. I tucked my phone back into my pocket. Tonight wasn't a good night to kiss ass, whether it was for money or scraps of love.
"Father Mike!" I heard a familiar voice. I looked up and was surprised to find young Jamie Davidson standing there, with a grin so big I could have sworn it was going to crack his face in two. He was one of the troubled kids I used to mentor at the local youth services gym. He wasn't a boy anymore, though. He had grown into a truly fine young man. He had been such an awkward looking boy back then, having looked like a character from a poorly done abstract painting. "I stayed to give you a ride home. I figured you would want one after the day you have had."
"Aren't you going to take me down town for questioning?" I asked as I shook his hand.
"God no, Father Mike. This isn't a crime movie. Your statement at the river bank is more than enough." Almost pushing me along he added, "If you become a suspect the whole world is completely screwed. Well, I guess it is screwed up now, but not enough that anybody would think you were involved."
"What? Do you think priests can't be killers?"
/> "Not an overweight, middle-aged one who can't box, run, or even work out for more than fifteen minutes. At least, not that many men at once." I smiled at his honesty.
"How many were there?" I knew there had to be a lot of them, but I didn't even try and count them. All I could truly remember was sitting there trembling, watching them drag body after body out of the river. There were so many of them and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of animal could tear men apart like that.
"Too many, I’m afraid. The damnest thing is that nothing was taken. We inventoried the ship almost all night and nothing was taken. It’s like somebody just decided to bring Hell upon them all."
"Hell upon them?" I asked, more shocked about the wide-eyed look on his face then what he had said.
He stopped and pulled me close as he whispered, "If you look past the burn marks, there are two distinct things. Their arms and legs were hacked at the killer used a machete or sword."
"What makes you think that, exactly?" I asked, seriously doubting the reliability of this statement. It seemed a little far-fetched even in Essex county for there to be a machete-swinging killer on the loose.
“It wasn't the coroner or anyone official, it was just what the boys and I noticed. Notches in the flesh like you would see if you were chopping wood and kept missing."
"I am sure that there has to be some other explanation. I can't see one guy wielding a sword or machete running through a ship and getting them all."
Red faced he grabbed my arm, "That's not the scariest part." Moving in closer and scanning the empty corridor, he continued. "There were puncture marks on their necks as if a giant cat had jumped up and torn their throats out."
"So you’re telling me that a giant cat or a lion or something happened to be on a cargo ship that was traveling down the Detroit river at the exact same time as a machete wielding psycho was chopping the crew up? Or that I can assume there was some giant cat on board?"
"No, but Detective Hines says that there were similar attacks in Romania a few years back, as well as a few other eastern European countries, and the culprit was never caught."
"Listen, Jamie. You’re still considered a rookie, right? " Considering I had shoes older then he was, it didn't take a genius to figure out that he couldn't have been wearing a badge for any longer than a year, if that.
Shyly, he twisted and said quietly, "Five months, as of the eighteenth." Keeping his hands in his pockets, he looked like that awkward fifteen-year-old kid who always seemed to be the brunt of every joke.
I was trying to think of the best way to tell him that even as an adult, he was the brunt of the joke. Even if the other cops didn't call him Dumbo or the like on account of his ears, it still looked like a strong wind would send him flying like any other fresh, rookie cop.
"Have you ever heard of hazing in college?" Even the word brought back a lot of messed-up memories of my time at Ottawa U, when I wanted to belong so desperately that I joined everything to try to fit in.
"Yes, of course. It's a fraternity thing. I didn't join any, but I remember seeing all the crap they put people through."
"Let's just say that you just joined the brotherhood of the boys in blue and this is their version of hazing."
"So I joined a fraternity?” He chuckled as he marched towards the door. Maybe Jamie wasn’t as sensitive as I thought. He muttered to himself, “So I was hazed, who would have figured?” Seeing the little strut that he had in his walk made me see that he would go far in the department. Any man that could laugh at himself could laugh with the world.
A flashing orange light caught my attention as we headed towards the doors. I was still getting used to the new color of the lights ever since some ass decided that blue was a colour better suited for use by snowplows. I watched as an ambulance pulled in and then hastily sped backwards, trying to line up with the doors. I sighed at the annoyingly loud sirens that always accompanied such vehicles. My simple life had become too eventful as of late and I truly didn’t want to witness anything more.
"Please stand back," Jamie hollered as he held his arms open trying to clear the way. "There's an emergency!" Of course there wasn't anybody in the lobby except for the janitor, who didn't even seem close enough to be in the way. Jamie meant well, even if he was showing off for the dainty blonde behind the counter.
The back doors slammed open and a paramedic burst out like a thief running from the cops. He immediately started dragging the stretcher out, before even the driver could get out to assist him. The urgency of the scene didn’t surprise me, given that I was at a hospital. However, there was something about the way the nurses looked as they rushed out to assist them. They all seemed to freeze the minute they saw the man in the stretcher, and even though I couldn’t see it I knew that it had to be bad. Trained, experienced professionals covering their mouths and looking away was never a good sign. A small nurse hunched over, throwing up in the corner as the others looked away with horror on their faces.
“Please stay clear,” Jamie repeated as he pressed the automatic door-opener, forcing the outside doors to slide open.
A short, chunky doctor in green scrubs came running past me with some plastic device square looking with flashing red lights.
“Get out of my way,” he yelled as he seemed to jump onto the stretcher. I stood there watching him, not sure if I should run away or stand still. Part of me wanted to cover my face to avoid seeing any more horrible images, but another part of me demanded that I watch. No matter how much humanity could convince ourselves that we were civilized, seeing the unimaginable would always excite us.
As they went past me I was sure that they had yelled something, but whatever they might have said was lost to me. All I remembered was the blank look that filled the man’s face. Dried blood was caked on so thick that it resembled a mask. I remembered seeing the little man pounding on the man’s chest, but the image that stood out most was the blackish shade of the blood that pooled in the place where his eyes should have been. I watched them disappear through dull-looking silver doors, wishing that I hadn’t looked because something, once witnessed could never be forgotten.
Jamie grabbed my arm. “Did you see the marks on his neck? Like some kind of giant cat?”
I hadn’t noticed any marks or anything else as they passed, with the exception of those haunting pools of blood. “No, I didn’t notice any marks on his neck.”
Grabbing his cell phone, Jamie held it to his ear.
“Dispatch, I think that I just found our missing crew member.”