Sins of The Gods

By Jim Gibson

Typically, people only die once, but when the bodies of the same four prominent citizens keep popping up every few years, Detective Mike Hendrix has a problem... as do the victims. As the case unfolds, the killer tells the victims a tale with a host of odd and colorful characters that begins in Neolithic England and ends in their current predicament. Think Saw meets Highlander meets Gump.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Gibson
• Release date: May 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458006028

Jim Gibson

My whole motivation for writing is little more than a result of searching for something novel and unexpected to read. It's become rather difficult to find a good story that isn't predictable. While writing, I draw from my past experience as a former: police officer, Mensan, military man and war veteran, business man, manual laborer, restaurant manager. And current: dedicated father, habitual traveler, British humor fan, trivia junkie and truck driver. My studies in history, religion, mechanical and military engineering, politics, martial arts, biology, literature, and the culinary arts came in handy as well. Not that it matters, but my inspirations are Robert Heinlein, Clive Barker, Terry Pratchett and Christopher Moore.

Book preview

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This isn’t a cookbook… Jim said it was a cookbook. I’m not sure what this is, but it’s definitely not a cookbook. Should I order it again? Maybe I hit the wrong button… Does it say that it’s a cookbook?

--Grandma Gibson

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Sins Of The Gods

By Jim Gibson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Jim Gibson

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents:

Prologue: (What a drama-queen)

Chapter 1: First Encounters (Just start the bloody story)

Chapter 2: Cops and Reporters (Hate ‘um already)

Chapter 3: In the Beginning (Is this a new version of the Bible or something?)

Chapter 4: …And It Just Keeps Getting Better (…No, it doesn’t)

Chapter 5: Diversification in the Bronze Age (Why is that again?)

Chapter 6: The Bigger They Are… (The more they shit?)

Chapter 7: The World Takes a Wrong Turn (That’s why I saved one bullet)

Chapter 8: Bad News for the Bad Guys (Well… duh!)

Chapter 9: A Candle in the Dark (Yeah, yeah, take a Prozac, already)

Chapter 10: Anticlimactic Revelations (Didn’t see that coming)

Chapter 11: Hope Realized… Sorta (What took ‘um so long?)

Chapter 12: Tamesis Gets Her Interview (Big surprise)

Chapter 13: Anger Management (I think I used to date her)

Chapter 14: That’s A Wrap! (It’s about damned time)

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Prologue

We’ve got fingerprint results on the bodies that you may find particularly interesting, Mike, said the department’s forensics specialist. It turns out that they have the same prints on them as the four bodies we found two years ago.

The forensic specialist instantly had Detective Hendrix’s full attention. So he’s back in business… This time he’s bound to make a mistake and when he does, I’ll personally… his words trailed off as a realization landed with both feet on his show of determination. Wait a sec, there were no fingerprints on the bodies back then… What are you trying to pull here, Jay?

His colleague held up his hands in protest, "Nothing! You’re not getting what I said straight. There were fingerprints on those bodies. Four sets.. Well four partial sets anyways. Maybe I should have said the bodies have the same prints as the ones we found before."

The detective eyed him openly skeptical and replied, How is that possible. Do you mean you found the rest of the missing fingers?

Nope. Well one or two were new, but the rest were repeats from before.

Once again, how the hell is that possible?

The fat man shrugged. Got me, but it's true.

The detective stepped closer and looked up at him. If you’re messin’ with me Jay, I swear I will beat the brakes of your fat ass when I find out.

Jay looked nervous as he eased back against his scarred steel desk. He made a mental note to henceforth; make a habit of breaking unsettling news while standing in the doorway. He outweighed detective Hendrix by a good hundred pounds, but he knew the man was more than capable of doing what he promised. I’m just tellin’ you what the FBI analysis told me, Mike. If that’s wrong then I’ll have to ask you to beat the brakes of their collective ass first.

The detective backed away a step. Okay. But this doesn’t make a damned bit of sense. You got any ideas?

The specialist visibly relaxed a little as he nodded towards the phone. I don’t have a clue. I’ve had it rechecked twice now and called my contact there. We can’t think of anything that makes sense… But those are the same fingers that were down at the morgue that we cremated a few years ago.

Chapter 1

First Encounters

~

May 30, four years ago

Mitch Johnson woke with bright lights shining down on him from his left and right. The rest of the room was dark and he couldn’t see any walls. Something about the odd sounds he heard suggested they were there, though.

He tried to sit up. There was the slight rustle and squeak, almost like the sound of a child fondling a balloon, when he made the effort, but nothing else. He couldn’t move.

His mouth hurt almost as much as his head. It was full of something.

Cloth? Yeah, cloth, he thought, and it tastes… bloody?! He tried to rise again, but found something held him firmly in place.

Ah, you’re finally awake, Mr. Johnson, observed a disembodied voice. I was just setting up the last of the props for our little show.

A full length mirror suspended on some sort of mobile scaffold rolled over him and offered a view he already knew wouldn’t be good. He could see that he was nude and was being held to the table by what looked like plastic wrap and a metal collar with tubes sticking out of it. His eyes tracked down his static body and locked on a machine next to his feet. It looked like an industrial sized circular saw that had been mounted to a track that ran the length of the table.

Well Mr. Johnson, here’s the deal: In a moment I’m going to take that rag out of your mouth. Then I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them honestly and immediately. If you fail to do so or if you deviate from answering the question that I asked, things will get very… uncomfortable for you. Do you understand?

Mitch bobbed his head yes to the extent the collar would allow.

Good. I should also point out that the device you’ve no doubt observed around your neck is a rather handy little gadget that was designed specifically for this interview. You see, while you were unconscious, I separated the blood flow to and from your head from the rest of your body. There are lots of subtle ramifications to this fact Mr. Johnson, but the one that you should focus on is that I can keep your mind alive and awake regardless of what happens to your body. For that matter, I could give you a variety of psychotropic supplements or even adrenaline to, um, enhance the experience for you.

A man stepped beside the head of the table and sat a tape recorder next to Mitch’s head and pressed record. He didn’t look like what Mitch would have expected for a psycho. He was average in every respect Mitch could see. A little stocky but not enough to make you scream steroids or anything. Maybe a bit on the short side too, but it was hard to tell how high the table was for comparison. Very clean cut, too. He pretty much looked like a textbook government agent if you ditched the suit and sunglasses before throwing in a lab coat.

The man pulled the cloth from Mitch’s mouth, and after spending most of his adult life either talking his way out of or into trouble, Mitch instinctively launched into a plea of mistaken identity.

Look man, I-

Before the third word passed his lips, the saw came to life and slowly began tracking across the table, shredding the plastic and removing a two millimeter layer of tissue from the bottoms of Mitch’s feet. Mitch screamed in pain as he watched the procession in the mirror. That red spray of gore, that speckled the mirror, but mostly flew into the darker recesses of the room, was him! He strained to pull away, but it was no use.

When the blade completed its pass it pulled its self back to the starting position and clicked as it ratcheted a barely visible two millimeters towards the head of the table. Mitch could see the gnawed, bloody plastic as well as his blood pooling on the bottom teeth of the saw before dripping on the floor. The rag was easily stuffed back into his shrieking mouth.

The Interrogator leaned down next to Mitch’s ear so that he could be heard over the muffled screams, "I’m going to have to guess you’re a bit of a slow learner Mr. Johnson. I just told you not to deviate from my questions. Or perhaps you thought there was room for negotiation? I’m sorry to disappoint you Mr. Johnson. All you have to bargain with is the information that I want. To put it simply, your balls are on the anvil and I’m holding the hammer, so you will play by my rules. When you think about it; a hammer would actually be an improvement over your rather precarious predicament. Now we will try this again, do you understand?"

Mitch clenched his eyes shut as tears of pain seeped from them. This couldn’t be happening to him. He always knew there was a possibility he’d end up murdered, but he’d assumed that it would be a bullet in the brain prompted by his questionable methods in dilution and weighing techniques for certain illegal substances, or neglecting to pony up prompt and full payment for the aforementioned substances. Being thin-sliced to death like a turkey in a supermarket deli certainly never crossed his mind.

An odd smell seeped into his consciousness. Instinctively, he realized it was the smell of ‘aerated Mitch’ and the conviction that this was in fact happening to him finally established a beachhead.

Now, for the first time in his life, he saw no possible avenue of escape, and he didn’t know what to do. So, he did what many of today’s naive youths would do in such a desperate situation: he wished it all away.

When no answer was forthcoming, the saw came to life again and began stripping away a second layer of his feet. Mitch abruptly came to the conclusion that he needed a dramatic change in tactics. And for the next four hours he cooperated in every detail to the best of his ability.

There were questions about his parents; about where and how he grew up; inquiries into his sex life and partners; about a few girls that he had strung out over the years that ended up dead; paper or plastic? There were questions about Mitch’s drug supplier and his customers. There were questions about their associates, friends and family; about the best place to buy latex paint. He was asked about the lingo of his trade and daily life; music preferences? He was grilled on both the normal and extreme amounts of a variety of drugs consumed by people in varying stages of addiction. He was even asked if light beer really was less filling.

The list went on and on, and Mitch answered everything as soon as he was asked as precisely as he knew how.

By the time the questions ended he was six millimeters shorter than when he first woke, but he had survived. The man told him to open his mouth and he complied without hesitation. The rag, now dry again, went back to its roost.

The man picked up the recorder and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. Thank you Mr. Johnson. Your cooperation has helped immeasurably in vindicating a great injustice. I will no longer require your services.

Mitch felt relief wash over him until he remembered that in every movie he could think of, someone usually turned up dead when the words ‘I will no longer require your services’ were uttered. The man turned to go and the saw came to life yet again.

While it would probably seem like an eternity to have one’s body shredded two millimeters at a time. It actually only took a little over an hour for the saw to make the remaining 852 passes to reach the collar.

Mitch would never know how lucky he was when the saw slashed an exposed loop in one of the collar’s hoses.

He really didn’t have a last thought as he bled out. His sanity was in completely the wrong state to interject a lucid opinion or observation. Bearing that in mind, California seems as likely as any.

~~~

The information Mr. Johnson gave would indeed be put to very practical use. The Interrogator sets about making his plans and putting together a materials list for several facets of them. He estimated that he would be ready to act within six months.

He bought most of his supplies in the surrounding states and paid with cash. Always one type of item at a time and always implying an alternative to what they would actually be used for. He gathered surveillance equipment, building materials and a variety of power tools. Some of the items with more dubious and single minded applications were improvised.

He commandeered many items from construction sites late on weekend nights. It didn’t bother him to steal those items. After all they were his buildings and he had no intentions of collecting on the insurance.

He found a gold mine at a flea market in the form of a cache of electric motors ranging from 1/8 horsepower on up to five HP. He took the lot and paid in cash all while wearing sunglasses, a loose jacket and a ball cap. Everything was loaded into an old Silverado pickup that had bogus plates and magnetic signs on the doors indicating that it belonged to Big Al’s Appliances. At other times the truck sported signs proclaiming Sparky’s Electrical, Greasy Beaver Plumbing, Three Gringo’s Lawn and Garden or Inuit-Inferno Heating And Cooling.

Some of the more unusual items to be collected required trips out of the country, and late night border crossings, on roads that didn’t show up on most maps. Whatever it took to bring them home undetected.

A specialist was called in for certain portions of the pending work. The Interrogator had known him for a long time and knew his work was unimpeachable and confidential on the highest level.

A meticulous record was made from the ever increasing surveillance of the pray and his associates. Patterns were noted, friends and acquaintances logged, favorite restaurants, regular dry cleaner, exercise routines, preferred drinks, times and locations of illicit and legitimate business transactions, visits to mom, television viewing preferences, and even remote monitoring of fluctuations in electric, water and gas usage throughout the days and weeks were all annotated and evaluated.

He wrapped up his project two weeks ahead of schedule. It was time to open a gate to Hell directly in the path of his prey.

Chapter 2

Cops and Reporters

~

Tamesis Hanley pressed the record button, in her dining room, and rattled off the time, date, location and the premise of the interview with the anonymous informant title spackled in to protect her source. She then set the digital audio recorder on the table in front of her and appeared to relax in her chair with a legal pad on her well shaped, crossed legs and a pen poised to tick off items as she scanned her questions for the best place to start.

She pursed her moist lips and raised her eyes to meet the Mike’s. With a slight tilt of her head, she asked, Officer, what can you tell us about your part in the investigation into the deaths of Mayor Benjamin Jackson, Mr. Timothy Jordan and Mr. Buford Simpson?

Detective Mike Hendrix lit a cigarette to distract himself from the obviously strategically displayed physical flawlessness of the reporter. He was considerably older than his youthful appearance suggested, and had long ago reigned in his primal urges. But even a man on his deathbed would probably entertain a barrage of lurid thoughts in the company of Ms Hanley. There was something about her that demanded the attention of testosterone …estrogen, too, Mike suspected.

He leaned back in his chair. He tilted his head to match the angle used by Tamesis and puffed out a smoke ring then sent a stream of smoke through the center of it as he gathered his thoughts. Well, for the record you left out one name. A major drug dealer named Leonard Mason also disappeared with the others and turned up just as dead. We just didn’t know they were linked to the same killer until much later.

Tamesis jotted a note without looking down. That would be ‘infamous crime boss’ Leo Mason, yes?

Mike considered the cliché and nodded. "That’d be the one. It wasn’t until a very strange series of events occurred that we had no choice but to make the connection… A long and bloody series of events, really. The amazing thing is that we pretty much know who the killer is and can’t prove it. Every search we conducted for evidence came with the same results: Zip.

The higher-ups have sent down orders to not release the name for fear of… well, a pack bloodthirsty lawyers when you get right down to it. That’s why I came to you, this way.

Tamesis knew what the detective had at stake here and had suspected, before he even arrived, that she might have to coddle him a bit to get what she wanted. She leaned forward and lay a consoling hand on the table. Please, start at the beginning then. If we can do something to vindicate these murders, we will.

Mike set his jaw and looked down at his hands for a moment. Then he looked up at the reporter again. Alright. But some of this is going to sound impossible or at the very least highly improbable.

Mike’s memory zipped back to four years earlier on a chilly evening in mid-November.

~~~

-November 19, four years earlier

The Beast stirred in a cave. Its first conscious thought was of the hunger. Its body ached for relief like it never had before. Its enormous frame shook unsteadily as it rose.

Twilight claimed dominion beyond the entrance. A deep inhale brought in a survey of its surroundings. The musk of underground moisture mingled with the smell of animals recently departed from the area. Odd smells mingled; rotting vegetation mixed with a kind of smoke unlike any it had ever smelled in the wild. These smells were more chemical in nature. Nothing like the pleasant, if worrisome, wood smokes that waft from those rare human encampments and dwellings the Beast had encountered before. To the Beasts surprise, the smell of humans lay beneath the smoke. Lots of humans. The brute had never considered there were that many humans in the world.

On outward the Beast’s nose searched this new world.

Wait! There it was! The Beast was moving before it fully comprehended what it smelled. Bursting from the mouth of the cave faster than a gay Mennonite from a brothel, it intensified its olfactory investigation. In the open air, confirmation took hold instantly. It ran at full speed.

A late autumn breeze stirred long dead leaves and stripped away warmth from any source it could find. But it also carried the odors.

The Beast’s surroundings were alien. The trees were small scraggly affairs with far too much space from one to the next. The Beast was used to no trees but when it did happen across them, they grew in groves, or even forests, not spaced evenly beside strips of white or dark grey stone. Here too, were so many of the human dwellings, much larger than it had ever seen before but it was hard to mistake the straight lines and pointing corners. It was as if the world had become a rather disturbing dream.

It all looked wrong… Not that the Beast paid much heed to anything other than the smell. Nor was there any reason to worry about potential dangers on its quest. Anything it could run across would most likely piss itself anyway.

~~~

Chuck unlocked the bathroom door for the first time in almost three days. He had been convinced that everyone in the house wanted to tie him up and take the last of his stash. This didn’t really make sense, considering he had less than anyone there. But the paranoia had finally slipped from his drug ravished mind... Not to mention that he’d injected the last of his stash hours ago. As he wandered through the hallway and into the kitchen he saw the other five part-time residents crowded around the window over the sink, looking out into the night.

Probably think Five-O’s hyper-intelligent shadow-force monkey spies are in the trees to find the best angles for recon, raids and turd-hurling, again, he mused as he pulled up a chair and sat at the table. Junkies are a fun people to watch. He thought as he raised someone’s orange juice and took a sip. It wasn’t like the owner would notice, they were absolutely riveted to the window… could just be fireflies, too. Must be something pretty interesting to keep Kyle away from the VCR. Old electronics could frequently be found on the kitchen table along with a small tool kit. Tweekers could work on them for hours and never accomplish anything aside from successfully keeping a junkie occupied. No one missed the table space. It's not like anyone was going to be preparing a meal or anything. Chuck’s Thanksgiving dinner had been a snack size bag of Cheetos and a glass of grape Kool-Aid.

After about five minutes of mannequin-like concentration, someone spoke. I know it's against your rules, but I think you should open the damned gun cabinet! exclaimed Jessica.

Jessica always exclaimed… Even when she was whispering or talking in her sleep. She didn’t seem capable of any other mode of speech. I don’t think a pack of wolves that all of us can see can be written off as hallucinations!

Chuck’s head snapped up. What in the hell is that crazy bitch talking about.

~~~

Harold Miller’s dog Pinto woke him with a few yaps and a threatening growl.

Harold pulled the newspaper from his face and scanned the area for whatever might be spooking the unkempt Pomeranian. He could hear a police horse galloping over the grass towards his home/office/sharpie-monogrammed park bench. It wasn’t that putting his name on the bench had prevented any of the city’s countless homeless from trying to stake a claim on his bench, but at least he didn’t have to listen to childish clichés about the obvious validity of his own claim.

Damned police wouldn’t let a man catch a nap in peace.

He zeroed in on the direction of the sound and waited for them to divert around the long row of hedges. Maybe they’re after those damned dogs that were sniffing around here a few minutes ago.

The sound came onward.

As he propped himself on his elbow, he lay his hand protectively over the half empty bottle of peaches and cream flavored MD 20/20 in his dingy coat pocket.

A Volkswagen-sized hole in the eight and a half foot high hedges exploded towards him. A huge beast tore by only a foot or so from Harold and barreled away down an alley on the other side of the street.

Harold Miller had been Pinto’s master for several years, but he now found himself following Pinto’s lead.

He pissed himself.

~~~

Chuck watched in disbelief as Billy opened the oven, felt around the upper burner, and retrieved a key. He inserted it into a wall-mounted lock box by the refrigerator. He twisted it and pulled yet another key out. The new key was taken to a padlock attached to the handle of the large gun safe near to the back door which had a smaller lock trapped in its hinged shackle. The smaller lock’s shackle ran through the eye of still another key. After freeing it from the smaller lock, Billy inserted that key into the gun safe and opened the door. An array of ammunition, pistols, hunting rifles, shotguns and even an assault rifle hung inside. It's amazing how many stolen goodies you can collect if you’re a dealer willing to barter.

Chuck stood and rounded the table towards the back door. A room full of armed junkies was not that funny at all… unless they were armed with squirt guns loaded with petroleum jelly. This, on the other hand, looked like an ideal time to run to the store for smokes.

Chuck heard the click and pop of the AR15 clip being loaded and a round chambered as he reached for the door knob that would lead him out through the garage. As he opened the door he noticed with relief that the garage was open.

Then he heard the growl.

~~~

The Beast felt the fatigue of running all out for only a short time. If it were capable of abstract cognition it may have assumed it wasn’t a spring chicken anymore… Well, knowing just what the hell a spring chicken was would probably help, too. Much to its credit, the thought didn’t occur. Besides, more important things were taking precedence at the moment.

The smell was coming from just up ahead. The scent of the other animals, blood and panicked humans wafted beneath an odor of a new kind of smoke, as well. Only one smell mattered though.

The Beast accelerated.

~~~

For several moments, Oh, come on! Really? was all that seemed to want to register on Chuck’s head as he lay bleeding by the back door. Waves of determined wolves poured in the back door over him. Oddly, his most serious wounds were not from the two wolves chewing on his fugitive limbs. In fact his legs would still be tethered to his body were it not for a startled Billy amputating both of them with the assault rifle in response to the sudden appearance of the wolves in the house. With as many bullets that landed around him, it was a wonder that was all the damage Chuck sustained.

The pain hadn’t taken hold yet… Which was odd because he could still feel the linoleum against his hands. He’d walked across that floor thousands of times and never paid any attention to it. Now, its subtle ridges brought old memories of Hot Wheels cars being slung down slot car tracks hard enough to derail them. So much had happened to that little boy since he tucked the memory away that Chuck almost felt like he was borrowing someone else’s childhood. His current predicament tapped him on the shoulder and politely reminded him that if he wanted to keep making memories, he’d better find a way out of this mess.

Lying on his back, he looked around the room for help. Rolling his head up and to the right he could see Jessica lying face down and lifeless as a wolf tore at the side of her neck. The new girl (she called herself Lexis and Chuck never bothered to ask her real name, knowing full well that her novelty would soon wear off and she’d be out whoring for Billy to pay for her fix) had managed to climb into the sink. She was slashing wildly with a paring knife at anything that popped up over the edge of the counter. Rolling his head up farther and more and to his left Chuck could see thrashing body in the hall doorway. He couldn’t see a face but he knew it was Kyle from the unlaced combat boots that flopped about between stuttering kicks at air.

He couldn’t see Billy and Sam. He tilted his head back more to see down the near dark hallway. That particular light bulb had blown out long before Chuck ever set foot in the house.

Then he felt the teeth sink in his throat and the wolf’s head begin thrashing as it ripped away the flesh. He couldn’t even scream.

As fate would have it, his last thought was of what his parents would think when they found the ample collection of bondage porn between the mattress and box springs in his room at their house.

~~~

Billy backed away from the now locked basement door, bumping into the lab table he used for cooking methamphetamines. The door shook as Sam beat on the other side begging to be let in as he fired the last three shots from the Glock he managed to grab on his way out of the kitchen. It felt natural to Sam and if he’d had time to think about it, he’d have realized that it was the one that had been stolen from his house eighteen months before.

A scream heralded the end of Sam’s pleas and the beginning of the sounds of growls and ripping cloth and flesh. It was about then that Billy realized his error. He closed his eyes and hung his head. Sam was into him for at least a ten grand.

A crash above sent both dust showering from the basement ceiling and Lexis’ random squawks and squeals into a single, unwavering soprano note worthy of any opera. It lasted for about five seconds before drowning in a cacophonous roar of primal rage. Billy tried to suppress the shiver that radiated down his spine and out each of his extremities.

The ceiling groaned as something massive quickly moved across it.

Billy heard a loud thump and a crash on the other side of the kitchen. A sound like a 50 pound sack of potatoes hit the floor. The baby monitor Billy had hidden in the kitchen informed him Lexis was no longer making any sounds louder than the occasional gurgling.

Whatever was up there was now moving towards the door at the top of the stairs. Billy ran to the outside basement door and began twisting back the ten slide bolts, unhooking the dozens of hook locks and scrambling for the key to the three hasped padlocks arranged around the reinforced doorframe.

From the top of the stairs, another roar and Sam offered one last gurgling scream just before what sounded like a very moist crunch. The last lock fell to the ground. The door behind Billy exploded down the stairs.

Hearing the stairs creak behind him, Billy turned the handle and jerked the door. It didn’t move. An image of three padlocks on the outer side of the door appeared in Billy’s head. He had installed them to insure no one would try to sneak out this way with his product while he wasn’t looking. Another roar, this one impossibly louder than the first shook the room.

Billy turned to see. He did a double take.

That’s not possible. He thought.

The Beast charged. Billy grabbed the AR15 and raised it firing his last three shots before the firing pin