Angels to Guide Them
Chapter one
Razorback Farm - Miami, Oklahoma
It's unseasonably warm for the late autumn weather, but that is likely due to this location in the mid-west. I left my coat in the car and am managing well with a thick flannel and undershirt. It's early in the morning and already the flies are driving me to distraction. It smells like hell here and sounds like it too. I am wondering if that is why this place was particularly chosen for this grand spectacle. Even now across the corn field in a wooded dividing line of the property, the hogs are screaming like all nine hells broke loose because of the commotion. It is setting everyone's nerves on edge. I glance over at the rest of the team and see I'm not the only one having a hard time, but their unease gives me a little comfort. At least I'm not alone.
I am tired. I did not sleep much last night, and as I run my hands through my wavy dark hair and down my face, I wonder if I remembered to eat. Jack Crawford and I came over together on the red-eye flight from D.C. to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and then another couple of hours back up north to Miami, Oklahoma. A package of snack crackers and boxed juice counts as breakfast on some days.
They pronounce Miami differently around here than they do down in Florida, and in my present state, I keep forgetting to adopt to the mid-west way of saying it. The police have quit correcting me already and have replaced it with looks of annoyance instead. I try my best to avoid interacting with them as much as politely possible after that.
"Here, Will! You look like you could use this." Jack comes up behind me at the crime scene looking official in his FBI jacket, his slate gray sweater vest over his Oxford white shirt and tie. He hands me a convenience store black coffee and I'm thankful for small favors. Then he shouts, startling me, "WILL SOMEONE SHUT THOSE STUPID PIGS UP?"
"Thanks." I say meekly. The coffee is cheap and bitter, still hot enough to burn upon first contact but not in an uncomfortable way. I can feel my eyes dilate as the caffeine hits me and takes hold. My stomach immediately tightens. The snack I had on the plane is already long gone, but maybe it is for the best to do this scene on an empty one. "They're hogs, Jack, and they aren't stupid. Hogs are intelligent creatures, arguably a bit smarter than dogs. Better noses. Dogs look better on a couch though."
Jack gives me a look that I'm sure means he doesn't care much about the praises of swine. He retorts, "I have nothing against your sensitivity to stray dogs, Will. I'd rather listen to a pack of mutts howling than hogs screaming. Then again, my sister-in-law is visiting Bella for the weekend, and I'm about ready to strangle her yappy cocker-poo." We both give an amused huff as we distract ourselves for a moment with anything other than what is in the field behind us.
"Whom are you ready to strangle, Agent Crawford?" Jack turns, but I don't need to turn to know it's the tailored form of my Lithuanian born psychiatrist Doctor Hannibal Lecter sticking out like a rose among thorns on this country road. I can imagine him perfectly fine without having to meet his piercing maroon eyes, his neatly combed light brown hair, and chiseled northern European features. I take another drink of coffee and nod towards the doctor so as not to be rude.
"Doctor Lecter! We didn't see you on the flight over." Jack shakes the doctor's hand. "I was just telling Will how I have a family member visiting with an overly attention-seeking dog."
"I have had a few patients with the same disposition", Doctor Lecter quips and they share a quick chuckle. "I upgraded my flight to first class, at my own expense of course. I find economy seating a bit claustrophobic, and I am sure you both did not mind having a seat between you for elbow room." I see him giving me a pleasant yet searching look out of the corner of my eye. He is aware of my need for personal space.
I envy how rested he looks with a quick glance over his tall form. Dressed in business casual much like when we were investigating Garret Jacob Hobbs. A deep navy and maroon argyle sweater over pressed khaki slacks and Oxford loafers. I give him a quick polite smile before I turn completely away and take a deep breath. Now that he's here, it's time to get ready for what I am about to do. I place my coffee securely on the hood of Jack`s black rental car, taking a moment to inhale and release an emboldening breath that is a bit louder than I anticipate. I carefully make my way down the embankment, watching my step for gofer holes and mole mounds to the broken fence line.
"Have I missed anything?" Dr. Lecter asks Jack eagerly in a hushed voice as they walk behind me, and I try not to think about the eyes of anyone on me. I'd much prefer a crime scene behind closed doors than out in the open where I'm exposed to curious glances. Especially with Dr. Lecter present since he is here to watch me closer than anyone. Jack, in his wisdom, forced the man upon me to keep me, what? To keep me sane? Normal? Normal for me, I guess. When you see what I see, feel what I feel, through the mad intentions of killers, Dr. Lecter is both a boon and a bane to my existence.
"It's tasteless and an absolute blasphemy, but at least the hogs enjoyed it. Fencing was broken in several places, probably hoping the hogs would disturb the crime scene enough to make our job harder." Jack's last statement brings me to what the hell I am looking at.
I swat another fly off my face as the scene buys all my attention. A crucifixion done with ironically biblical fervor. Three crosses stand about eight feet tall near the tree line still binding what's left of their wasting burden. The morning light still holds some of the orange and pink of dawn and casts a glow on the scene making it feel like a painters pallette to me. Oddly beautiful until you get closer.
The bodies have been picked at and chewed upon by an indiscriminate nature. Four partly eaten and disturbed bodies lay roughly in a semi-circle pattern around the crosses thanks to the hogs, crows, maybe even a few coyotes taking advantage of an easy meal. Wooden stakes have been pounded into the ground near them, their hands tied to them in a position of prayer with twine you'd find anywhere out here in the country.
All the bodies have been burned, but not completely. Charcoal was found in their mouths still warm, but barely. Their teeth have all been broken or removed to further complicate identifying these people post mortem. Forensics has a lot of work cut out for them and not just with driving the scavengers away.
I take my time to walk around the scene three times, reading over the statements and evidence in the file already given to us by the first responders. By the time forensics clears the area, I believe I've seen all that needs to be seen to get me going. I give Jack a nod and pull my glasses off my face to tuck them in my shirt pocket, rubbing my temples at the constant dull pain in my head. I wait while Jack clears himself and the police out of my sight and back up to the main country road. Then, I wait a minute longer.
Stretching my head from side to side, I take a few steady breathes, and shut my eyes to the reality of the world around me. Thum-thump. Thum-thump. I listen to the rhythm of my heart beat as I imagine myself in the shoes of the one responsible. Thum-thump. I open my eyes and my focus narrows into a tunnel-like vision. I am me, and I am not me. I know who I am, but I am also unfamiliar to myself. What do the facts tell me? What do I see? What do I feel? I begin reconstruction of the crime scene. Go back, back, back to how it all began. I look towards the country road and make my way up there willing myself, opening myself to harbor the meaning of it all, the killer's ultimate design.
I feel a sense of anticipation and my heart beats faster as I survey the field. "I park in the access road to stay out of sight from any late night drivers. It's miles of quiet country road and most decent families are already asleep, but I still need to be careful in order to carry out my plans.
The grass along the ditch and tree line is matted down. A pilgrimage came this way bearing the heavy burden of their dead on crucifixes. "I have four or five other people to help me carry the three crucifixes down to the site in tarps. These followers have only a vague idea of what will happen here, and I assure them that they are chosen to witness something profoundly meaningful. "You are likely wanting to be looking for a small box truck as it's much safer to carry the crosses with the bodies already on them. Possibly another large bed pickup truck to carry the necessary materials."
I walk down the tree line to the site avoiding their steps, but they feel like my steps leading a procession. "At least two of them were similar in height and weight, and wear the same brand of working boots by the looks of soles here. We may be able to narrow down a brand. The soles are relatively newer than the others in procession."
I arrive at the chosen spot, a small alcove in the tree line. I use a small flashlight to look for the holes, the only light I dare to use at the moment. "No stumbling or tripping over roots or uneven ground. He's been here before to dig out the post holes for the crosses in advance." I need this to go quickly and smoothly before the ceremony is to begin.
"This killer stands in front of the central figure and tells his followers to kneel, supplicate themselves before him and the one they call their savior. They hesitate, carefully getting to their knees, but no one runs. Why?" I check the file again. Something was found in the head wounds. Ah yes, of course. "At some point, during the supplication, the followers were bagged over the head with a sack. His legionnaire", the only man I trust, "goes to each one and drives a heavy mallet or hammer to their heads in one deft and lethal swing." Crack! Thunk! "The cries for pity and mercy are silenced one by one." He is not one to forgive.
I walk around and place the rods, tying the bodies, carefully breaking and shattering their teeth before arranging them again in a position of supplication. By the time I finish, my legionnaire is back with the coals to fit into their mouths." The word of god will burn within them and cleanse their souls. I feel finally at ease and a sense of righteousness seep out of me. "This is my design" I mumble.
I stand to face the three crucifixes and... my breath catches. I turn my head sharply away from the bodies of Garret Jacob and Abigail Hobbs mounted on crosses made of antlers. Falling to my knees I clutch the at the grass, grounding myself to the here and now. I am close to panic and my head feels like fire as I close my eyes and take cleansing breaths.
I look back again. Abigail is alive, I know that she is not really mounted behind my crouched body, Garrett Jacob is still in the morgue, I've seen him there. I look forward and up to the road briefly to see Jack and Hannibal looking at me expectantly, they both take a tentative step toward me. I clear my throat and stand facing them, looking nervously over my shoulder. The hallucination is gone. I clear my throat again and shake the image from my head.
We meet each other halfway at the fence line as they take their time down the embankment. "The coals were placed inside their mouths during the ritual. The rest of the burn marks on the victims came only after everything had ended." I turn back to the three bodies on the crosses. "Those three people were significant. A thief and a murder most likely. The one in the middle is a savior, or someone who tried to be one. Could be a religious person in life or someone who preached faith. There would have been a fair amount of trouble gone through to make the representation as accurate as possible. He took time to collect these three people. The rest on the ground are probably homeless, runaways, addicts. People who won't be missed for a time."
"He? You think there was only one killer that did all this?" Jack gestures broadly at the scene.
"Oh, there are definitely two killers here, but only one of them actually sees himself that way. He enjoys his position of power, he's a sadist along for the ride with a megalomaniac with a god complex. The orchestrator of this crime, is our religious fanatic. He's creating iconography and is very meticulous about the look of it. He doesn't SEE himself as a killer. He sees himself as a savior, the only one worth believing in, anyway. He punished their lack of faith by righteous and holy fire."
"That's strange." Jack notes, furrowing his brow. "What is the significance of placing coals in the mouths of the victims? Is that something religious or just adding to the difficulty of identification?"
"Fire has uses in many ways, Jack. You can use it to disinfect a needle, close a wound. Fire is a chance of renewal in nature and a sign of rebirth in some cultures. Or one could use it to destroy something they no longer wish to see or for others to see." I need to focus and break my rambling.
"Perhaps the coals are a physical representation of the tongues of fire sent down from God to his faithful to preach his word. The manifestation of the faith he desired in the end from them?" Interjected Hannibal. He looks from Jack to me, and I look away quickly before he catches my eyes. I am not sure of what he would see in them, or even if he would want to be in my head at the moment. With his words, I could see it plain as day and feel the euphoria of purifying the sinners with my own hands.
"That's possible, at least for one of them. These two killers are in a balancing act feeding off each other's madness. They are getting exactly what they need from each other, and I don't see this stopping any time soon." Jack is nodding his head, lips pursed, looking down while tapping his notebook on his thigh, lost in his thoughts. Doctor Lector's head tilts to the side as he considers me and my insight. A light smile feathers across his face before becoming neutral again to observe the field once more.
"There has been a history with these two." I continue. "An established order and process is in place to maintain their bond of codependency. Family -biological or found, lovers perhaps, hard to say right now. We can start a search using that angle." I hear myself say this, but I am not here mentally, I'm there with the dead in the field. Something is missing. I feel it in my gut like a rope tugging at my insides to go back in there. See.
"It was dark though, a fair amount of cloud cover but the moon did show last night; the hot coals provided some light. Placing the coals in the mouths would have illuminated their faces from within making them easier to see. As the coals burned out it may have the effect of the souls slowly leaving the mortal coil and the cooling of my, the killer's, indignation over a false savior." I make my way back to the scene, I feel the shutters flying open inside of me casting light into the final hiding place of the killer's dark design.
He doesn't need to see it to know it's happening. He's seen it played over and over again in his fantasies. "Every god needs a witness to their majesty, and I'm not talking about his handyman with a hammer. Someone had to witness, to share the story of his wrath to others that waiver in their faith. He wants to be loved, not feared, but that's what he'll give them if that's what it takes." I look up and see the tree branches above me. "He wants someone to love him, or at least understand him."
The trees are nearly devoid of their multicolored foliage and the wind rustles the dry leaves free in places. I shield my eyes from the sun coming through the canopy, and I can see the sky though not entirely. A sturdy looking bough is blocking my view of the heavens and it annoys me. Something has to be done about this. "Jack, get me a ladder."
Twenty minutes later I have a ladder from the hog farm. I stretch it out and extend it as far and as high at it could go. Doctor Lecter and Jack steady the legs on the uneven soil for me as I climb up. I feel desperate as I reach the lowest bough and tug at it, testing its strength. "The bark is worn away here. I'm seeing possible rope fibers" I call down. Jack motions for the forensics team to come back in. I surveyed the scene below me. "Something was hung here, but not left here."
Something not part of the design?" Jack calls up to me.
"Something or someone." I look over the bough carefully, and I hear the killer whisper inside me, "Someone too precious to leave behind." The bough was back a little ways, but almost in-line with the middle cross. I lightly ran my gloved hand over the bark with all my focus and attention, and then I see it. A strand of long dark hair was caught in the bark of the tree and disturbed into revealing itself by my hand. I pull it gently free, my witness on high. It is beautiful, poetic; with the killer's perfect scene finally reconstructed, he fades away from me with the coming breeze.
"What is it, Will?" Jack calls up. I look down to see him looking up at me quizzically and notice Doctor Lecter's thin smile as he shares in my triumph. Jack holds up an evidence bag for me as I make my way carefully down to him.
"A strand of long hair, likely female." I deposit the hair and hand it back to him. "H-He brought an angel from the heavens to be his witness. To stand guard against the gates of heaven and hell."
Perhaps it is a trick of the light coming through the canopy, but I swear a spark like ember or rubies glint momentarily in Doctor Lector's amused eyes. I swallow hard looking back across the charred bodies being carefully placed into body bags. "An angel to guide them to their final destination."