Chapter Fourteen
Kevin and Chandler were dragged back into the police station. No one could quite believe it: a cop wearing casts around both his legs from his accident, and a minister wearing bandages covering the cuts from which he had hurt himself when he smashed the church window; still both were angry enough to forget their temporary disabilities and engage in a fist fight over something for which they themselves were equally guilty: infidelity, and with each other's wives.
Kevin was suspended for one week with pay; while Chandler, having ignored Kevin's previous warning, was spared jail time but received a $400 fine for disturbing the peace. The police chief also forced them to sign a peace bond, forcing them to stay away from each other until their respective wives returned, which was also supposed to happen in about a week.
Back in Oahu, and later that evening, Lucy and Roxanne were having a quiet dinner at a restaurant on the windward side of the island, well away from the hustle of the main drag of downtown Honolulu. It was an unusually quiet affair. Word had already reached them about what happened in Glen Oak, and the women were embarrassed both for themselves and for the fact their husbands didn't take the news that well. But the men didn't know about their wives' own affair, something for which Luce and Roxie were also mortified had even happened.
Although, when each privately thought about it, unspoken to each other, it may have been Roxanne who had made the first move a couple of days before; when, in response to Lucy's shock over the news her ex-boyfriend Jeremy was living with Ashley, Roxanne had told Lucy: "Stranger things have happened." It was almost an invitation to Lucy to experiment, to see what being with another woman was all about, in a place and time such that no one, not even their husbands, would ever know.
Lucy and Roxanne could not have known that just a couple of miles away at a bed and breakfast, Ruthie and Peter had finally found the tranquility they had been seeking from the time they had arrived in Hawaii some time before. They decided that, for the time they were here, they'd remain in seclusion, stepping out only for meals. Further, they'd avoid having sex – a rather unusual decision for a honeymooning couple. Instead, they'd spend most of their time naked but meditating, praying for peace for themselves, their departed friends, and for the world.
For five days, they did this, until both had reached the sense of place and time they had longed for – togetherness and harmony, with God, themselves and the world around them. And in a dream, Ruthie came to the realization that she really was pregnant now, with the child she and Peter so longed for and would connect them together forever, no matter what lay in the future.
Now, it was truly time for them to face the challenges that lay ahead: studying to be in the service of God, their child, and each other. They would tell the rest of the family, as soon as they returned to the mainland, of their decision to become ministers. This was too important a secret for Lucy alone to bear; and for what it was worth it'd be months before anyone was found.
There was only one thing that nagged at Ruthie and Peter. Ruthie, Deena and Mary had figured out what the motive for the killings was. They also all knew there was only one suspect. Deena and Mary knew who it was, but Ruthie and Peter only knew the person's coded initials, "QE." They had racked their brains for some time trying to figure out what it meant. But none of the names they themselves had come with – which were identical to those Roxanne and Lucy, had – made sense, for the reasons Ruthie's sister and the cop had.
And what possible enemies could Peter have? He wasn't perfect, but his almost guileless nature refused to acknowledge that there were some truly wicked people in the world. He even thought there still had to be some good left in the worst of the worst – even the man over a hundred countries had named their Public Enemy Number One after the 9/11 atrocities.
That night, Peter and Ruthie lay in each other's arms, still withholding from becoming one human being but enjoying the touch of each other's skin. They were asleep now, in a state of semi-unconsciousness and in near total nirvana.
The storm door on the first floor of the bed and breakfast creaked open, and a hooded figure, all dressed in black, broke in. He took off his shoes and left them outside before crossing the threshold. Then, so as not to awaken the hosts, he gently closed the door behind him.
He had once stayed at this home before, while on a weekend getaway. His business required him to relocate from California and work in Honolulu for a year, and one day he felt he just needed to get away from a place he realized was more and more just like any West Coast city. So, having been here before, he knew the locations of each of the rooms – where the guests stayed, the restrooms, the pool hall; as well as the exact number of steps on the staircase and its location. This was so easy: who needed the ductwork?
Having found the stairwell in the darkness, he began tiptoeing up the steps. As he did so, he couldn't believe his luck. Following those two creeps had been his obsession for nearly five years. He had done so from a distance, so as to cover his tracks. And he had some friends on this island, all of whom could help him escape if he had to on a moment's notice.
It was pretty easy, really, especially the last year. Right after Ruthie and Peter started their senior year, he had gotten a job in the accounting office of UCLA. After a month or so of processing invoices, he had checked the careers board and discovered an opening in the admissions office. Two months after that came two applications, postmarked Glen Oak. The return address was the same. Incredibly, Ruthie Camden and Peter Petrovsky were living in the same house.
So it was true, then. Despite all their denials after the beating death of that pervert, Frank Henderson (who got what he deserved), Petrovsky and Camden were still having sex with each other, under the eyes of not one but two ministers. How hypocritical could this family be?
As for all those other couples, it didn't matter. They were living in sin before their marriages, so their deaths were merited. So what if there was no motive other than that? Wycliffe and Hus one day would rise from the ashes and would be quite pleased with what their faithful follower had done. They were in heaven, had access to St. Peter, and would get on the sidelines of the express lane through the pearly gates, rushing him through to the reward he deserved.
As for the sinful world, let them rot in hell. His mission was just. He would have a high place among the angels, right alongside those that the so- called legitimate history had condemned as the worst of the worst. Hitler, Stalin, Pot, Genghis Khan. Those revisionists didn't know what they were talking about. They were the evil ones, not those who had fought against them.
And now, this was his moment. Ruthie Camden and Peter Petrovsky had slipped up. They had chosen a bed and breakfast that just happened to be next door to where this man had been staying on and off for the last three months. He'd take them out. Then, while those fools Eric and Annie Camden mourned the loss of their daughter and son-in-law, he'd go around the country on the mainland; and before those bastards knew what hit them, he'd kill the adult Camdens and their spouses too.
Oh, what the hell; kill their children also: after all, didn't God tell Moses that not only the progeny of relationships outside marriage must be removed from the covenant, but also their progeny all the way to the tenth generation too? Kill the sin at its source. Who cared if they were babies, their baptism was invalid. They were still in original sin and would be till the day they died. And their children, and theirs, and so on and so on – and finally, he'd return to Glen Oak, for the grand finale: he'd kill Annie, Eric and the twins too. The Camden family would be history.
But first things first: Ruthie and Peter. Picking a lock was so easy. Why did this foolish couple, and their friends, even bother staying at hotels that used electronic locks? Hacking one of those systems was like taking candy from a baby. Just go to a different computer, even on the same portal site, to disguise where one was coming from, swipe a blank, duplicate card, and no one would know the difference. And the best part was, once it was all over, he'd be uninfected, totally blameless.
He'd let someone else take the fall – someone in his own family, who was also a sinner and must also die. Worse, she worked for The Government, making her an even greater enemy. But they executed those who killed government employees. He must remain uninfected. He must let her take the fall – after all, she'd be a so much more obvious candidate, someone who knew more about computers and espionage in just a few years than he could learn in his lifetime.
He finally reached Ruthie and Peter's room. This didn't have an electronic lock, why would it? It was just a simple barrel. Peace of cake. He picked it in less than five seconds.
In the shadows, he saw the first double bed. Flat. Empty. He saw the second bed. A hump: perfect. He could take out both in one fell swoop. He reached in his holster, pointed the gun at Peter's head, and said, in a gravely voice which he deliberately disguised:
"It is finished."
He presumed that Peter and Ruthie were asleep. But they were not. They had heard the door open downstairs too, and were now wide awake. Their bodies were shaking – either from fright or resignation.
"Fine," said Peter. "But if you're going to execute us, we ask that you honour one last request."
The man thought this was strange, but as an executioner he thought he ought to oblige.
"Name it."
"Down and to the left ..."
Before he knew what hit him, Ruthie jumped out of bed, and pulled out a crowbar from under the bed, which she had hidden. Hearing Peter's breathing then the burglar's, she followed Peter's instructions, found the mugger's kneecap, and started whacking him over and over.
It was the moment they had been waiting for. They knew that their number was bound to come up, and that they were the intended targets all along. The others may have been collateral damage, but they weren't going to be part of that number; for Peter and his wife had a secret weapon: themselves. As Christians, had they been in the line of fire between themselves and others, they would gladly lay down their lives to save others, taking the bullet to spare the innocent, especially if it meant finding the culprit. But this was different. They were alone, and the butcher of Hawaii would have to put up a mean fight. Ruthie and her husband would not give up their lives that easily. If it was a fight the stalker wanted, it was a fight they'd get.
As Ruthie kept hitting the man in the darkness, alternating between the left and right knees, Peter found the man's throat. Grabbing a garrotte that he had hidden from his side of the bed, Peter wrapped the ligature around the jugular and started strangling the coward. The man was stunned by this attack. He was trapped, had no chance. He was starting to black out. His knees had totally gone from under him under repeated hits from Ruthie; and as he as about to pass into unconsciousness, he begged for mercy. But Ruthie and Peter would have none of it. This wasn't a man for the authorities to deal with, whoever he was. They'd make him pay, personally.
Peter now dragged the man around the bed and toward the closet. He opened the door, as Ruthie followed from behind and was still hitting the man, now on his feet.
A third person, a cop, was waiting inside. She pointed a gun at the man's forehead, and fired a single bullet through the ski-mask. He fell to the floor and died instantly.
Ruthie turned on the lights. It was an awful mess. The man, whoever he was, had been bludgeoned by Ruthie and strangled by Peter so effectively that he would've died anyway from the trauma. The bullet, however, had been necessary to finish the job quickly. The couple were guiltless. Their lives had been in imminent danger, and they had acted in self- defence.
The cop, who had also been wearing a ski mask to conceal her identity, finally pulled it off. It was Theresa.
"Good job, guys!" she said approvingly.
"Thanks," said Ruthie. She appreciated the compliment but was shaking. She didn't know, until this moment, what it was like to take another human life; and even if it had been justified, it frightened her.
"Just one thing," said Peter. "You're with the enforcement division of the EPA. If it wasn't your parents who did this, why did you agree to protect us the last couple of days?"
Theresa had been doing a stakeout of her own. Once she had learned from Roxanne who the real prime culprit was, she sprung into action. Having found Peter and Ruthie, who had been covering their tracks quite well, she had spent the last two days in the walk-in closet, running a round the clock makeshift command center. When the commotion started in the main bedroom, she sprung into action, getting her gun ready just in case.
"Well, it's a long story," said Theresa. "To make it a short one, after my parents disowned me, and I had spent some time with those very nice ladies – um, what were their names – Elizabeth Brown and Carolyn Fulton? – I eventually found a place to stay with my uncle. He took me and my daughter in. That was a big mistake. He started abusing both of us – me sexually and her physically. I ran away from him before he could kill both of us, and cooped up at Elizabeth's until I could find a place of my own. I got a scholarship back east and studied geology, which eventually led to my job at the EPA.
"About a month ago, my parents got busted for dumping a huge amount of bulk oil in a protected marshland. I was the investigating officer, and when I confronted them, they were positively frightened. They couldn't stand facing the daughter they had forsaken. But they also had another problem. Seems my mom's brother – my uncle, the same one who had abused me – had gotten off the deep end, and had joined a commune that ..."
Ruthie and Peter couldn't believe it. It was if they had known it all along.
"Honoured the contributions of the great heretics of the Middle Ages," said Peter, and he and Ruthie started reeling off, alternately, one name after another: "Count Raymond VI of Toulouse..."
"Peter Abelard ..."
"Arnold of Brescia ..."
"Peter Waldo ..."
"Wycliffe ..."
"... and last, but not least, John Hus."
"So, my parents, they made a deal," said Theresa. "They quickly reconciled with me, and agreed to pay a hefty fine to the EPA to avoid a jail sentence; and in exchange they agreed to betray some information the government needed: The last known location of my uncle. And, now, here he lies before us. Allow me to introduce yourself to your tormentor, my despicable uncle, Hawaii's public enemy; mass murderer QE, whose real name is ..."
She turned over the hulk of the corpse, and pulled off the ski mask. Peter and Ruthie gasped. It was someone they had met once before, five years before, when they had both turned thirteen. It was ... it was ...
"DICK!!!!" screamed Peter. "Dick Proctor!!!!"
"He's your UNCLE?" sputtered Ruthie in disbelief.
"Unfortunately," said Theresa, "but yes, he is. Or I should say, was."
Kevin and Chandler were dragged back into the police station. No one could quite believe it: a cop wearing casts around both his legs from his accident, and a minister wearing bandages covering the cuts from which he had hurt himself when he smashed the church window; still both were angry enough to forget their temporary disabilities and engage in a fist fight over something for which they themselves were equally guilty: infidelity, and with each other's wives.
Kevin was suspended for one week with pay; while Chandler, having ignored Kevin's previous warning, was spared jail time but received a $400 fine for disturbing the peace. The police chief also forced them to sign a peace bond, forcing them to stay away from each other until their respective wives returned, which was also supposed to happen in about a week.
Back in Oahu, and later that evening, Lucy and Roxanne were having a quiet dinner at a restaurant on the windward side of the island, well away from the hustle of the main drag of downtown Honolulu. It was an unusually quiet affair. Word had already reached them about what happened in Glen Oak, and the women were embarrassed both for themselves and for the fact their husbands didn't take the news that well. But the men didn't know about their wives' own affair, something for which Luce and Roxie were also mortified had even happened.
Although, when each privately thought about it, unspoken to each other, it may have been Roxanne who had made the first move a couple of days before; when, in response to Lucy's shock over the news her ex-boyfriend Jeremy was living with Ashley, Roxanne had told Lucy: "Stranger things have happened." It was almost an invitation to Lucy to experiment, to see what being with another woman was all about, in a place and time such that no one, not even their husbands, would ever know.
Lucy and Roxanne could not have known that just a couple of miles away at a bed and breakfast, Ruthie and Peter had finally found the tranquility they had been seeking from the time they had arrived in Hawaii some time before. They decided that, for the time they were here, they'd remain in seclusion, stepping out only for meals. Further, they'd avoid having sex – a rather unusual decision for a honeymooning couple. Instead, they'd spend most of their time naked but meditating, praying for peace for themselves, their departed friends, and for the world.
For five days, they did this, until both had reached the sense of place and time they had longed for – togetherness and harmony, with God, themselves and the world around them. And in a dream, Ruthie came to the realization that she really was pregnant now, with the child she and Peter so longed for and would connect them together forever, no matter what lay in the future.
Now, it was truly time for them to face the challenges that lay ahead: studying to be in the service of God, their child, and each other. They would tell the rest of the family, as soon as they returned to the mainland, of their decision to become ministers. This was too important a secret for Lucy alone to bear; and for what it was worth it'd be months before anyone was found.
There was only one thing that nagged at Ruthie and Peter. Ruthie, Deena and Mary had figured out what the motive for the killings was. They also all knew there was only one suspect. Deena and Mary knew who it was, but Ruthie and Peter only knew the person's coded initials, "QE." They had racked their brains for some time trying to figure out what it meant. But none of the names they themselves had come with – which were identical to those Roxanne and Lucy, had – made sense, for the reasons Ruthie's sister and the cop had.
And what possible enemies could Peter have? He wasn't perfect, but his almost guileless nature refused to acknowledge that there were some truly wicked people in the world. He even thought there still had to be some good left in the worst of the worst – even the man over a hundred countries had named their Public Enemy Number One after the 9/11 atrocities.
That night, Peter and Ruthie lay in each other's arms, still withholding from becoming one human being but enjoying the touch of each other's skin. They were asleep now, in a state of semi-unconsciousness and in near total nirvana.
The storm door on the first floor of the bed and breakfast creaked open, and a hooded figure, all dressed in black, broke in. He took off his shoes and left them outside before crossing the threshold. Then, so as not to awaken the hosts, he gently closed the door behind him.
He had once stayed at this home before, while on a weekend getaway. His business required him to relocate from California and work in Honolulu for a year, and one day he felt he just needed to get away from a place he realized was more and more just like any West Coast city. So, having been here before, he knew the locations of each of the rooms – where the guests stayed, the restrooms, the pool hall; as well as the exact number of steps on the staircase and its location. This was so easy: who needed the ductwork?
Having found the stairwell in the darkness, he began tiptoeing up the steps. As he did so, he couldn't believe his luck. Following those two creeps had been his obsession for nearly five years. He had done so from a distance, so as to cover his tracks. And he had some friends on this island, all of whom could help him escape if he had to on a moment's notice.
It was pretty easy, really, especially the last year. Right after Ruthie and Peter started their senior year, he had gotten a job in the accounting office of UCLA. After a month or so of processing invoices, he had checked the careers board and discovered an opening in the admissions office. Two months after that came two applications, postmarked Glen Oak. The return address was the same. Incredibly, Ruthie Camden and Peter Petrovsky were living in the same house.
So it was true, then. Despite all their denials after the beating death of that pervert, Frank Henderson (who got what he deserved), Petrovsky and Camden were still having sex with each other, under the eyes of not one but two ministers. How hypocritical could this family be?
As for all those other couples, it didn't matter. They were living in sin before their marriages, so their deaths were merited. So what if there was no motive other than that? Wycliffe and Hus one day would rise from the ashes and would be quite pleased with what their faithful follower had done. They were in heaven, had access to St. Peter, and would get on the sidelines of the express lane through the pearly gates, rushing him through to the reward he deserved.
As for the sinful world, let them rot in hell. His mission was just. He would have a high place among the angels, right alongside those that the so- called legitimate history had condemned as the worst of the worst. Hitler, Stalin, Pot, Genghis Khan. Those revisionists didn't know what they were talking about. They were the evil ones, not those who had fought against them.
And now, this was his moment. Ruthie Camden and Peter Petrovsky had slipped up. They had chosen a bed and breakfast that just happened to be next door to where this man had been staying on and off for the last three months. He'd take them out. Then, while those fools Eric and Annie Camden mourned the loss of their daughter and son-in-law, he'd go around the country on the mainland; and before those bastards knew what hit them, he'd kill the adult Camdens and their spouses too.
Oh, what the hell; kill their children also: after all, didn't God tell Moses that not only the progeny of relationships outside marriage must be removed from the covenant, but also their progeny all the way to the tenth generation too? Kill the sin at its source. Who cared if they were babies, their baptism was invalid. They were still in original sin and would be till the day they died. And their children, and theirs, and so on and so on – and finally, he'd return to Glen Oak, for the grand finale: he'd kill Annie, Eric and the twins too. The Camden family would be history.
But first things first: Ruthie and Peter. Picking a lock was so easy. Why did this foolish couple, and their friends, even bother staying at hotels that used electronic locks? Hacking one of those systems was like taking candy from a baby. Just go to a different computer, even on the same portal site, to disguise where one was coming from, swipe a blank, duplicate card, and no one would know the difference. And the best part was, once it was all over, he'd be uninfected, totally blameless.
He'd let someone else take the fall – someone in his own family, who was also a sinner and must also die. Worse, she worked for The Government, making her an even greater enemy. But they executed those who killed government employees. He must remain uninfected. He must let her take the fall – after all, she'd be a so much more obvious candidate, someone who knew more about computers and espionage in just a few years than he could learn in his lifetime.
He finally reached Ruthie and Peter's room. This didn't have an electronic lock, why would it? It was just a simple barrel. Peace of cake. He picked it in less than five seconds.
In the shadows, he saw the first double bed. Flat. Empty. He saw the second bed. A hump: perfect. He could take out both in one fell swoop. He reached in his holster, pointed the gun at Peter's head, and said, in a gravely voice which he deliberately disguised:
"It is finished."
He presumed that Peter and Ruthie were asleep. But they were not. They had heard the door open downstairs too, and were now wide awake. Their bodies were shaking – either from fright or resignation.
"Fine," said Peter. "But if you're going to execute us, we ask that you honour one last request."
The man thought this was strange, but as an executioner he thought he ought to oblige.
"Name it."
"Down and to the left ..."
Before he knew what hit him, Ruthie jumped out of bed, and pulled out a crowbar from under the bed, which she had hidden. Hearing Peter's breathing then the burglar's, she followed Peter's instructions, found the mugger's kneecap, and started whacking him over and over.
It was the moment they had been waiting for. They knew that their number was bound to come up, and that they were the intended targets all along. The others may have been collateral damage, but they weren't going to be part of that number; for Peter and his wife had a secret weapon: themselves. As Christians, had they been in the line of fire between themselves and others, they would gladly lay down their lives to save others, taking the bullet to spare the innocent, especially if it meant finding the culprit. But this was different. They were alone, and the butcher of Hawaii would have to put up a mean fight. Ruthie and her husband would not give up their lives that easily. If it was a fight the stalker wanted, it was a fight they'd get.
As Ruthie kept hitting the man in the darkness, alternating between the left and right knees, Peter found the man's throat. Grabbing a garrotte that he had hidden from his side of the bed, Peter wrapped the ligature around the jugular and started strangling the coward. The man was stunned by this attack. He was trapped, had no chance. He was starting to black out. His knees had totally gone from under him under repeated hits from Ruthie; and as he as about to pass into unconsciousness, he begged for mercy. But Ruthie and Peter would have none of it. This wasn't a man for the authorities to deal with, whoever he was. They'd make him pay, personally.
Peter now dragged the man around the bed and toward the closet. He opened the door, as Ruthie followed from behind and was still hitting the man, now on his feet.
A third person, a cop, was waiting inside. She pointed a gun at the man's forehead, and fired a single bullet through the ski-mask. He fell to the floor and died instantly.
Ruthie turned on the lights. It was an awful mess. The man, whoever he was, had been bludgeoned by Ruthie and strangled by Peter so effectively that he would've died anyway from the trauma. The bullet, however, had been necessary to finish the job quickly. The couple were guiltless. Their lives had been in imminent danger, and they had acted in self- defence.
The cop, who had also been wearing a ski mask to conceal her identity, finally pulled it off. It was Theresa.
"Good job, guys!" she said approvingly.
"Thanks," said Ruthie. She appreciated the compliment but was shaking. She didn't know, until this moment, what it was like to take another human life; and even if it had been justified, it frightened her.
"Just one thing," said Peter. "You're with the enforcement division of the EPA. If it wasn't your parents who did this, why did you agree to protect us the last couple of days?"
Theresa had been doing a stakeout of her own. Once she had learned from Roxanne who the real prime culprit was, she sprung into action. Having found Peter and Ruthie, who had been covering their tracks quite well, she had spent the last two days in the walk-in closet, running a round the clock makeshift command center. When the commotion started in the main bedroom, she sprung into action, getting her gun ready just in case.
"Well, it's a long story," said Theresa. "To make it a short one, after my parents disowned me, and I had spent some time with those very nice ladies – um, what were their names – Elizabeth Brown and Carolyn Fulton? – I eventually found a place to stay with my uncle. He took me and my daughter in. That was a big mistake. He started abusing both of us – me sexually and her physically. I ran away from him before he could kill both of us, and cooped up at Elizabeth's until I could find a place of my own. I got a scholarship back east and studied geology, which eventually led to my job at the EPA.
"About a month ago, my parents got busted for dumping a huge amount of bulk oil in a protected marshland. I was the investigating officer, and when I confronted them, they were positively frightened. They couldn't stand facing the daughter they had forsaken. But they also had another problem. Seems my mom's brother – my uncle, the same one who had abused me – had gotten off the deep end, and had joined a commune that ..."
Ruthie and Peter couldn't believe it. It was if they had known it all along.
"Honoured the contributions of the great heretics of the Middle Ages," said Peter, and he and Ruthie started reeling off, alternately, one name after another: "Count Raymond VI of Toulouse..."
"Peter Abelard ..."
"Arnold of Brescia ..."
"Peter Waldo ..."
"Wycliffe ..."
"... and last, but not least, John Hus."
"So, my parents, they made a deal," said Theresa. "They quickly reconciled with me, and agreed to pay a hefty fine to the EPA to avoid a jail sentence; and in exchange they agreed to betray some information the government needed: The last known location of my uncle. And, now, here he lies before us. Allow me to introduce yourself to your tormentor, my despicable uncle, Hawaii's public enemy; mass murderer QE, whose real name is ..."
She turned over the hulk of the corpse, and pulled off the ski mask. Peter and Ruthie gasped. It was someone they had met once before, five years before, when they had both turned thirteen. It was ... it was ...
"DICK!!!!" screamed Peter. "Dick Proctor!!!!"
"He's your UNCLE?" sputtered Ruthie in disbelief.
"Unfortunately," said Theresa, "but yes, he is. Or I should say, was."