“What does he mean ‘thirty-third’ question?” a female detective with close-cropped blonde hair queried.
“The Malleus Maleficarum is laid out as a series of questions with applied criteria,” I explained. “An accused Witch or heretic would be put to these questions and convicted on the basis of the one that matched the closest. The thirty-third question for example is relative to the passing of sentence upon someone accused by another Witch who either has been, or is to be, burned at the stake. In this case, I would venture to guess that both Sheryl Keeven’s and Kristine Webster’s names were given to the murderer by Kendra Miller under the pain of torture. As you will note, her manner of execution was burning.”
“So how is it that you know about these questions?” another detective asked as he poured over his handouts. “I don’t see anything about that in the chain of evidence.”
“That’s part of why it’s not so obvious,” I answered him head on. “I saw it when I channeled the last moments of the victims lives.”
“Oh,” he returned. The look on his face told me that he wasn’t sure if he should challenge me or keep quiet. I still don’t know for sure why he elected to do the latter, but at that moment I could feel a large presence over my shoulder and knew that Ben was no longer leaning against his desk.
“So that explains the list,” a voice interjected into the quiet. “Do you think he’s just going right down the page, line by line?”
“That’s the theory,” I acknowledged. “He probably started by picking Brianna Walker because of her street moniker ‘Wicked Witch of the West End.’ She in turn gave him Kendra Miller’s name and probably several others for that matter. Kendra Miller gave him even more… Let me just add that he undoubtedly has the names of every Witch in their coven because when asked who else they know that’s a Witch, the obvious answer would be those they worship with. Of course, it is probably a safe bet that they gave him other names as well. I can’t say for a fact at this time how he might be picking each successive victim from his list… It obviously doesn’t appear to be alphabetical… But starting at the beginning and working forward seems as logical as any. Be that as it may, I’m willing to bet he has plenty of names to work from because of the tortures he put the first two young women through.
“I’d also like to add a personal theory, and this one is just based on a feeling. I think that he’s probably very overwhelmed by what he perceives as the sheer magnitude of an infestation of heretics. Every time he executes one, most likely two or more are added to his list. He’s probably just trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Therefore, he may no longer be as interested in extracting names from them as he was in the beginning. This might also account for the lessened amount of torture, and it would certainly explain the little spree last night.
“Still, because of the nature of what he is doing, he will continue to demand names, and the list will just keep getting longer.”
“So, whether he wants it to or not, the rolls keep growing, and in a sense the victims perpetuate the crimes by continuing to add names to the list,” the blonde detective stated matter-of-factly.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I agreed.
“You’re right, it would explain the change in his pattern and definitely the sudden escalation,” Agent Mandalay remarked from behind me. “If he feels that he’s losing control, another spree could be just around the corner.”
“Great,” Detective Deckert muttered sarcastically then appealed, “Just how long is this crackpot’s list?”
“Depends on how many names the previous victims gave him. And like I said, it just keeps growing,” I offered the detail in answer. “Your guess is as good as anyone’s. There is quite a large Pagan community in Saint Louis whether you know it or not. Just using myself as an example, while I certainly don’t know every Witch in Saint Louis, I could probably name twenty-five without even thinking hard. If pressed, I might be able to give you a hundred. I’m sure Brianna, Kendra and Sheryl could have done the same.
“On that note, however, I would like to mention something else. I have made my case for the fact that this guy is after Witches or anyone he perceives to be one. As you know, last night, he deviated from that pattern when he killed Robert Webster. Now based on the facts at hand, I think we can all agree that Mister Webster was NOT on the list, especially since the Kristine Webster he was supposed to have gone after is unmarried. That would mean his death was purely unplanned, at least as far as the pattern has been established. Now unless I grossly misinterpreted the scene, I believe the killer is feeling some pretty heavy remorse over this.”
“Enough to make him stop killing?” a voice asked.
“I think so. Not for long, mind you,” I returned. “But, yes, I do feel that it might buy us a short reprieve. I would suggest we find him before he gets over it, however. I’m no psychologist, but I have a bad feeling that he is going to turn this guilt into anger and blame. When he does, I’m betting the blame will end up on the heads of Witches and Wiccans, and like Agent Mandalay said, another spree could be just around the corner. Maybe even worse than last night if he…”
Across the squad room the glass-paned door swung open, and a young, uniformed officer poked his head through. “Excuse me, Detective Storm?”
“Yeah, whatcha’ need?” Ben looked up and across at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he proceeded, “but a unit just came in with an old bum they popped for an assault, and, well… I think you should come down and have a look.”
“What for?” Ben shot him an impatient frown.
“Well, when they searched him they found a Bible in his pocket with a passage highlighted.”
“What was the passage?” I asked.
“Exodus, twenty-two-eighteen.”
Stunned silence layered itself across the room in an almost stifling fog. Colors bloomed and flashed in a sparkling fireworks display that rained outward in slow motion. A distant ethereal scream shattered my ears.
Liquid fire rushes down my throat.
I cannot scream.
The pain is piercing my very soul.
Why doesn’t someone help me?
The colors had begun to spiral back into themselves, and the imagined silence breaking shriek was fading steadily. I clung to the vision a moment longer, fearing it intensely, yet knowing that it had been triggered for a reason.
I’m floating.
Flames lick at me from below.
I cannot feel them.
I CAN feel them.
I still cannot scream.
Something… Someone… A movement in the darkness.
An old man.
Stumbling.
Sudden horror in his eyes
Flames lick at me from below.
Chroma, hue and sound completed their sudden wild pinwheel through the fold of the room and settled back to an even tone. The bloom faded and normalcy once again prevailed. The jangle of ringing phones filtered into my ears as if they had never been absent. I knew my brief excursion into another realm had been just that. Brief. I doubted anyone noticed other than myself.
“Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live,” I recited aloud then glanced back at Ben. “I knew there should have been a Bible at the second scene… That has to be it… He was there…”
“Jeezus,” Ben muttered under his breath.
“Son of a bitch,” Deckert echoed behind him.
“And by the way, Mister Gant,” the uniformed officer added. “There’s a woman downstairs asking for you. Pretty redhead about so tall.” He held his hand up to illustrate. “Say’s she’s your wife. Seems she’s the one who tackled the guy and sat on him until the squad car arrived.”
CHAPTER 16