Advent

By Donald Francis

Frank Brennan may be a minister...but he's no saint. Plagued by doubts and a crisis in his faith, Frank must search his convictions to help Detective Shannon Meadows find a serial killer dubbed "The Angel of Death" - before the Angel brings about his Advent one body at a time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257327966

Book preview

2006

Prologue

August 19th

It was a room where they sent you to die. Frank’s eyes trailed across the lime green walls and his nostrils twitched at the faint, sharp smells of ammonia and old urine. Try as they might, the hospital staff would never get rid of those odors – the twin reeks of pain and helplessness. He swallowed hard and sat down in the chair beside the bed, lowering his head and going through the motions of a perfunctory prayer.

The shape lying under the sheet wasn’t even recognizable anymore. The chemotherapy had seen to that, taking a lively thirty-five year old and turning him into a shriveled, bald lump on an intensive care bed. Tubes and wires ran from machines to the shape, giving Frank images of reanimated bodies awakening in storm ravaged castles, and Lovecraftian tentacled things pulling men into the earth.

Frank Brennan, the shape croaked. Good to see you.

Frank managed a thin smile. How are you, Todd?

Todd raised an eyebrow. I’m dying.

Brennan nodded. What else was there to say?

I want you to do something for me, Frank. He stopped, racked by a searing series of coughs that rattled the aluminum bed rails. I want you to pray for me.

I already have, Brennan thought. Every day, every night, every service. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord give Todd a break. Make him well. Why are you doing this to him?

Brennan nodded. Of course I will.

The coughing began anew, so labored and so violent that Brennan grabbed the call buzzer and pushed. The cough tapered off, and Brennan noticed livid speckles of blood sprayed across the sheets over Todd’s chest.

Todd looked up at Brennan with tears brimming in his eyes. Why? he whispered.

Brennan leaned over the bedrails, sliding his arms round Todd in a hug. He didn’t answer. He knew no answer was needed or even wanted. He knew because he had asked the question a thousand times over the last ten months.

The nurse pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. Yes, Mr. Lincoln? What is it?

Brennan turned to her. I rang the bell. He was having a coughing fit. Is there something you can give him?

The nurse looked at her watch and pursed her lips. But he isn’t due for his meds for another three hours, and…

Well, you need to do something, he’s…

…Dr. Minkster was very specific about his dosages.

Frank… Todd rasped.

I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do except prop him up a little farther.

…coughing his lungs up here while you’re arguing with me, and…

Frank, it’s okay.

Brennan turned to face his friend. I’m just trying to help, he pointed out.

Todd nodded. So is she. And you’re both helping. It’s nice to know there’s enough of me left to argue over. His chapped, flaking lips split into something Frank thought was intended to be a smile.

Brennan was embarrassed to find himself looking away from the death’s head grin.

Todd settled back on the pillow, perhaps reacting to the pain in Frank’s eyes. See? Much better now. No meds needed.

Brennan nodded, first to Todd, and then by way of apology to the nurse. She had already turned and was headed out the door and back into the corridor.

Is she always so pleasant? Brennan asked.

Todd nodded. You should see her in a bad mood. Don’t come in here pissing off my nurses, Frank. He smiled again. It was the old grin for a moment, full of backyard cookouts and softball games.

Brennan tried not to think about the old Todd. It was too painful for his mind to endure. Forget the terrible movies you saw together because neither of your wives would sit through them. Forget the Super Bowl parties and the bull and oyster roasts and the fact that he never could dance but always thought he could. And all the rest of it. That Todd is gone now, left behind in favor of this walking skeleton in a gray johnny and a pair of sad rubberized socks. And the skeleton needs all the support you can give him.

Brennan took his seat again. Is there anything I can bring you? Some magazines? Maybe a book?

A bottle of tequila and a couple of hookers?

Frank scowled at him. As if you had the strength.

Todd raised what was left of an eyebrow. My dear pastor, he croaked. You’d be surprised how much strength you can find in a time of great need.

Brennan picked up his frayed Bible. Not a great deal would surprise me about your strength. It’s my own that worries me.

Do me a favor, Frank. Put the book back down. There aren’t any lessons left for me.

Brennan licked his lips. There are always lessons, Todd…

Todd swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing obscenely under the taut skin of his throat. "Frank, even you can’t believe that shit anymore. Christ, man, look at me. Look at what He did to me. He laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Look, he said after a moment. If you want to read it for yourself, go right ahead. But not to me. I’m through with His Word for now."

You did ask me to pray for you.

There was a long moment of silence followed by a wheezing sigh. Yeah, well, I figure you have a better chance at that than I do.

Do I, Todd?

There was no answer. Brennan closed the Bible and sat back in his chair. He watched silently for several minutes as Todd flitted in and out of consciousness. He stared for a long time at the picture on the bedside table. Todd and his wife, Jackie. Their kids; Alison and Geoffrey. All happy together and mugging for the camera. Todd looking healthy, looking the way Frank was sure he’d want to be remembered. When was it taken? Can it be only a year ago? Could so much have happened so quickly?

Todd’s breathing began to rattle. It’s actually getting worse, he thought. It’s always darkest before the dawn, isn’t it? But what kind of a dawn are we talking about? Are we talking about renewed health or are we talking about death?

Life everlasting in heaven.

No. A body moldering under the ground, eaten away by time and parasites. Nothingness. Emptiness. Forever and ever. Amen.

He opened the Bible at random and read the first words that caught his eye. They seemed meaningless, just little sprays of ink on a yellowed page, signifying nothing.

But they signify everything, don’t they?

The Word ceases to be the Word when the Lord has stopped talking. And why should He talk to you, anyway? Do you not dare to question Him? Where were you when He made the heavens and the earth? Where were you when He lifted up the firmament and said it was good?

He looked back at Todd, watched his cadaverous chest rising and falling. You’re damn right I question. I wonder if You exist at all. And if You do, what a bastard You must be.

He looked back down at the page, saw the ink still arranged in meaningless flecks and squiggles, squinted at it while trying to make it understandable. It wasn’t until the first droplet hit the onion skin pages that he realized the blurring was caused by the fact that he was crying.

Brennan stepped out of the curtained enclosure the hospital called a room and ran a hand over his haggard face. The rough feel of his whiskers and the sour taste in his mouth reminded him how long it had been since he’d been home, had a shower, a hot meal, a soft bed. He glanced over his shoulder at Todd’s sleeping form and wondered if there was time enough. Probably not.

Jackie would be back in a couple of hours, her brief respite from the vigil over. He would wait at least until then, wait until he could be sure that Todd wouldn’t pass alone.

Pass? He frowned. He’s not going to be passing anymore at all. No more heaving footballs down a lush grassy field for Todd. No more hitting the accelerator and zipping around a slow driver, either. So what kind of passing are you talking about? You mean die. You want to make sure he doesn’t die alone. Ridiculous. We all die alone. And why do we cover up death, afraid to mention it and call it what it is? A sudden vision seized him – a vision of himself, standing up in front of the church, Todd’s heavy casket behind him, stumbling over a eulogy that would mention everything in the canon except the one thing that was unassailable fact; death.

Elly was there, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. She rose to meet him, rubbing at her neck and setting aside the worn magazine on her lap. How’s he doing?

Brennan shrugged. As well as can be expected, I suppose.

You must be tired, she said, leaning forward to hug him.

He clasped her tight. I’ll be fine, he said, knowing that he didn’t mean it at all.

Do you want me to get you something? A sandwich? A cup of coffee?

He shook his head. You…errrm… He cleared his throat. You may want to go in soon. There might not be much time left.

She lowered her eyes and shook her head slowly. I can’t. She sniffled, automatically raising a hand to her face. I don’t want to…see him like that.

Brennan lifted his head and pulled her tighter so she couldn’t see the frown on his face. She couldn’t possibly believe that HE wanted to look at Todd like that. What made her so special? Part of him wanted to take her by the shoulders and drag her down the hall and straight to Todd’s bedside, just to give her a dose of ugly reality.

Instead, he soothed her with, I know. But remember that it’s only a shell. Todd is just the same man he always was. He hated himself for telling the pretty lies.

I know, honey, she replied, wiping her eyes and pulling back to show him a brave face. All things happen for a reason.

Brennan closed his eyes and exhaled softly. Yes. All things for a reason. Whatever that reason might be.

I have to go back in.

I’ll wait for you. And for Jackie. Is she bringing the kids?

No, Brennan answered. I think for much the same reason you’re staying out here.

She nodded, squeezed his shoulder with affection, and reclaimed her seat. Brennan walked back down the hall, ignoring the suddenly portentous sounds of his footsteps on the marble floor.

Todd was still sleeping, and Brennan sat down beside the bed, flipping the Bible open. The page was dotted with brownish flecks of dried blood, baptized by Todd’s death throes. Tears welled up in his eyes again as he looked back from the page to his sleeping friend and wished that Jackie was here, that Alison and Geoffrey were cavorting around the room, even that the damned television was on. Anything to block out his thoughts and take him away from centering on the uneven breathing of the tubed, rasping thing that used to be his best friend.

It wasn’t long after that when he noticed Todd’s chest had stopped rising and falling. Brennan reached for the call buzzer with a trembling hand. Goodbye, my friend, he whispered as his thumb depressed the button. By the time the nurse arrived, he was bent over the body, saying the final prayers for a safe passage. He clasped Todd’s cold hand for another moment, then headed back down the corridor to join Elly. And wait for Jackie to arrive.

Chapter One

Friday, November 26th

I don’t choose them. God does. That’s why the police will never find me with all their carpet fibers and their dragnets and their Crime Scene labs.

God is on my side. He tells me where to look and what to look for. He shows them to me, and they are always there, right where He says to look. This one – I found her in the parking lot of the shopping mall, not far from the Good News bookstore where I picked up another New Testament since the last one, filthy sinner that she was, sprayed my Testament with her blood. Blood gets noticed. Blood makes people ask questions. And God told me that I can never let them ask me questions. He doesn’t answer the feeble questions of men – why should His emissary?

Things will change now. The last one was my harbinger. For the first time, He told me it was time to leave one where it would be found. It was time to spread His Word and let His works be seen.

It is not easy, and the weakness of my humanity, my sinful pride and my adherence to the wickedness of the flesh are constant obstacles to be overcome only by the power of my faith. He sends these obstacles to strengthen me, and His Way is not one lightly trod. The last girl wept so pitifully as I stacked up the stones that I had to leave the basement and stuff wads of cotton in my ears lest her pleas distract me from my purpose.

Her tongue spat lies about her innocence, all the while tempting me – offering me money, even the pleasures of the flesh, if I would just let her go. Have mercy on her.

The mercy was not mine to give, and His Judgment was final. And eternal. Nevertheless, her pleas moved me, and I knelt beside her in the end, praying His Mercy upon her now that she had paid for her sins and expiated herself through the purification of pain.

I waited until the sun went down, and then I wrapped her in a shroud and loaded her into the back of the van. I drove where He told me to, and I left her where He wanted her found.

Whether she is in Heaven or Hell is not for me to say. I don’t choose them. God does.

Chapter Two

Saturday, November 27th

And just what is it, exactly, that you want me to say, Father Brennan?

Brennan shifted uneasily in the seat as he glanced at the speedometer. Frank, he said. Sitting in a police car always made him unaccountably nervous – no matter how often he did it.

What?

Just call me Frank, Detective Meadows. I’m not a priest, so you don’t have to call me Father. Just Frank.

Her voice was skeptical. I get it. This is one of those New Church things, right? Like the face-to-face confessions and the folky guitar music at Mass?

Brennan sighed. No, I mean I’m not Catholic, so I’m not a priest. I am a Reverend, but I certainly don’t expect you to call me Reverend. My churchgoers call me ‘Pastor’ but we’re not in my Church. Here, in this cruiser, I’m just Frank.

She frowned. Fine. Frank. But just because you want us on the whole first-name basis thing doesn’t mean I talk to you about squat. Got it?

Whatever you want to do, Shannon.

Don’t do that, she snapped. You offered me the first name – I didn’t offer it to you. Got it?

Brennan shrugged. He had no intention of laying off the first name. It was one of the most important identification techniques. Keep using that first name, keep establishing that you have a bond of some kind with the client. You know, Shannon, I didn’t get up this morning and say to myself, ‘Well, Frank, time to go piss off a detective.’ I woke up to a ringing phone, and the other end of that phone was your captain.

I’m fine. I don’t have any post-traumatic stress bullshit, I don’t have any Daddy issues, and I don’t…

I’m not asking. He kept his voice low, even, and reasonable.

You what?

Brennan looked at her and put an edge on his voice. You don’t seem to understand your situation. You can talk to me, here, in your own cruiser, while you’re doing the job. Or you can keep shutting me out, and wind up with a referral order to the department shrink, who will put you on prescription anti-depressants. Then he’ll pull you into his office every two weeks until there isn’t anybody on the shift who doesn’t know that Shannon Meadows has lost her edge, that she’s gone round the bend, and she could be ready for a psycho pension. That what you want?

So I’m going to be punished because I want to keep doing the job after…

Brennan waited, but she wasn’t going to finish the sentence. After what, Shannon?

She glowered at him.

I’m not trying to make you say things just to hear you talk. I don’t know why I’ve been sent to talk to you. They do that on purpose. I don’t want to know going into this conversation what someone else thinks about you or what’s happened to you or what’s going on in your head. The only one who can tell me what’s happened to you, Shannon, is you.

She slowed down, and Brennan was relieved when she pulled into the parking lot of a diner. I talk better over coffee, she explained as she put the car in park and opened the door.

He climbed out of the passenger seat and trotted to catch up. Over her shoulder, she said, You heard about the arson fire over in Severn? Two weeks ago?

Brennan stepped ahead of her and held open the door. Yes. Three killed, if I remember correctly. It paid in this job to always stay well-informed.

They went into the diner and ordered their coffees to go. While they waited, Brennan took the opportunity of silence to size her up.

She was about thirty, he guessed. Five-six, weighed about 130, he estimated, if she was wearing her shoes, jacket, and sidearm when she stepped onto the scale. Blonde hair, dyed and showing brown at the roots, and green eyes that seemed to be crinkled in a perpetual skepticism. She radiated an unspoken warning. Do not approach. Hazardous material. It was in her body language, in the go-to-Hell look in her eyes.

He smiled a little to himself. He’d been around cops for too long. They were rubbing off on him.

Stepping back out into the chilly sunlight with their styrofoam cups in hand, they walked back to the car while Brennan picked up the conversation. So there were three killed in the fire.

She shook her head. Well, there were three killed in the fire, but there were four dead on the scene. And there was damn near a fifth.

Brennan sipped at his coffee and leaned against the car. If she was more comfortable talking outside the car than in, so be it. He concentrated on not shivering when the wind bit through his sport coat. If he looked uncomfortable, she might decide to bag the whole conversation, and he’d be out of luck.

"There were three kids in that house, and the parents were having some problems. She told him to get out one night, and he did. Then he came back one evening while she was at the store and he knocked on the back door, and the kids let him in. He was Daddy, after all, so why wouldn’t they? And once he got inside, he took the kids upstairs and he led them up to the attic, because he said that he and Mommy needed to have a ‘grownup talk.’ When his wife came home, he was waiting for her in the living room. He had a hammer and a can of gasoline.

The kids, two boys, six and four, with their three-year-old sister, pounded on the attic door when they heard their mother screaming. They couldn’t get out. The door was padlocked.

Oh my God, Brennan said quietly.

Yeah, she nodded. He beat the mother to death with a Craftsman hammer, and he took his time about it, according to the post-mortem. Then he went upstairs with his gas can and he torched the place. He was sitting on the front lawn listening to his children scream when the fire department arrived. Thanks to one lieutenant at 14 Engine, he was still there and still alive when I got there about six minutes later. I arrived just in time to see those men bringing out what was left of the mother. I was getting out of the car when the bastard pushed past the firemen to spit on his wife’s body.

What did you do?

She fiddled with a keyring she pulled from her coat pocket. What the hell could I do? I talked to the firemen for a few minutes, then I went over to him. I cuffed him and I was loading him into the back of the car to bring him in for questioning when they started bringing the children out.

Brennan noticed that the keyring held a plastic-encased photo of a girl. Blonde, with Mom’s eyes, she smiled brightly for the camera with the effortless charm of a seven-year-old girl. Did the father say anything at all?

Oh, yeah, she breathed. He said that now maybe the little bastards would know what pain was like. That’s what he said.

Brennan’s voice was calm and even. And what did you do?

Nothing, Fath…Frank. Her eyes blazed at him.

I did exactly what the fuck they trained me to do. I took his sorry ass down to the barracks, I called the sick sonuvabitch ‘sir’, I filled out the paperwork and filed the collar and I went home. She turned away from him and made a show out of drinking her coffee. So that’s it, Frank. No big shoot-em-up stories from this girl. No action movie bullshit about maverick cops pulling their guns or getting their partners killed or anything else that leads to these little touchy-feely horseshit interventions. Got it?

Brennan nodded. Oh, I’ve got it. But that’s not where the story ends, is it?

Her voice was low and angry. Of course it is.

No, Brennan shook his head. Because the next morning you had to get up and move on. Do the job. Ask questions, make arrests, read reports, file your paperwork. And none of it seemed to be quite as important as it was before you pulled up to that house in Severn anymore.

It isn’t important, she answered, finally looking back at him. Her eyes were level, cool, almost daring him to find any trace of emotion within them. That’s why I don’t know why you’re here, talking to me today. I didn’t do anything.

Brennan shrugged. Maybe you think that’s the problem.

You know, for a professional listener, you’re not so good at it. I didn’t do anything, and there IS no problem.

Brennan drank some more coffee and matched her emotionless stare. Want to know why I think I’m here?

Oooh. Why are we here? Her eyes danced and her voice dripped with sarcasm. We’re doing philosophy, now?

He ignored this. You wonder every morning why you ever became a cop, don’t you?

She rolled her eyes. Oh, please…

You’re losing her. Get it right, you schmuck. You think that since you couldn’t make a difference for those three kids, you’ve failed to be the ‘good cop’ you always thought you were. You think you should have been able to…

I think I should have shot him and saved the taxpayers a whole lot of money, that’s what I think.

I’ve been there, you know, Frank replied, but he knew it was a lost cause for the moment. Great work, Frank. Could you maybe make her a little more defensive? Maybe ask her some personal questions about her sex life?

She shook her head. Look, Reverend, or Pastor, or Frank, or whatever it is I’m supposed to call you, I don’t mean any disrespect here, but you don’t know me. You don’t know me as a person, you don’t know me as a cop. And you never will know what it is to be a cop. You can ride along with one, and you can…

The radio on her belt crackled. Tango 3-4, Tango 3-4, please respond. Bike path one-quarter mile northwest of Marley Station Mall…

Just in time for the Christmas rush. That’s me, she said. Get in if you’re coming.

…homicide reported. CID is en route, the radio crackled.

Brennan nodded, draining the last of the coffee and pitching the empty cup into an overflowing wastebasket at the edge of the lot before clambering into the cruiser. He didn’t even have the door shut when Meadows popped the car into reverse and they were off.

The enormity of the scene surprised Brennan. He’d seen movies, of course, where emergency vehicles had closed off streets and surrounded buildings with strobe lights in red and blue, but seeing it in person was more jarring than he would have expected.

The access road that wound its way around the mall was clogged with ambulances and police vehicles, and the entrance to the wooded portion of the bike path was roped off with bright yellow crime scene tape. Near the boundary tape was a uniformed cop of about forty, holding a young boy steady.

The boy was vomiting into the brush and crying.

Another uniform came out of the restricted area, bending his head and sweeping under the tape. He approached the car and glanced at the badge Meadows was flashing as she opened the driver’s side door. Detective, he said, approaching her. It's pretty bad. Got a woman, maybe 25, 28, lying in the woods just off the bike path. Kid over there found her. We’ve got the area sealed off, but the Crime Lab hasn’t gotten here yet.

She dead? Anybody get the coroner to sign a certificate?

The cop, a big, black man with REDMOND on his breast pin, nodded slowly. Oh, I don’t think you need to wait for a certificate. She’s dead all right. She’s a LOT dead.

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Brennan moved quickly, stepping behind Meadows and following everywhere she went. Don’t lose her. Stay with her. Show her you can move in her world as easily as you can behind a pulpit.

They walked down the bike path and she cast an irritated glance back at him. You’re contaminating my crime scene. You don’t belong here.

I’m supposed to be here, riding along with you. That’s the assignment. Like you said, I don’t know anything about being a policeman. Enlighten me. He gave her a smile he hoped would be more disarming than smug.

She stopped. Look, this isn’t the time or the place to play games. I’ve got a homicide, here and now, that…

That your Captain may not clear you to work on if I don’t report some progress in working out these things that are bothering you, Detective. This second smile was pure, distilled smugness.

She dropped her arms, defeated. Fine. Just don’t touch anything. Anything.

Brennan nodded and plodded along, doing his best to step only where he saw her stepping.

He nearly plowed into her from behind when she came to an abrupt halt. And there she is, Meadows nearly whispered. She dug in her pockets and produced a poker-chip sized disc. She slid the cover off with her thumb and dabbed into its contents with a forefinger. She smeared the ointment under her nose. Here. Rub some of this under your nose.

Eh? Brennan took the disc. The sharp menthol scent assailed his nostrils. Vicks? I don’t have a cold…

Just do it. Covers the smell of that. She took a step forward and gestured at the shape ten yards ahead of them.

Brennan’s eyes narrowed. No, that can’t be…can’t be a person. Hurriedly, he smeared a generous dollop under his nose. It burned in the cold wind.

Meadows glanced at him over her shoulder. It isn’t. Not anymore.

He stepped aside to get out of the path of a pair of uniformed officers carrying poles. He saw them taking up positions and establishing a rough perimeter for the crime scene.

The bloodied and half-liquefied mass in front of them was vaguely in the shape of a person. White splinters of bone peeked out from hunks of meat pulverized almost into jelly. Meadows approached carefully and squatted next to the body.

Female, Caucasian, further identification impossible at this point, she muttered, moving around the body and glancing at it from different directions. No purse, no clothing, so no pockets. No ID.

What…what could DO something like that?

Meadows shook her head. They don’t pay me to make guesses, but I’d say we’re not dealing with a what. This looks like a who.

But how could a person do something like that to somebody?

Hmmm, said a nasal voice from behind them. Tenderized.

Meadows rolled her eyes. That’s not funny, Hodges.

Hodges, a bespectacled fellow in his forties, pushed past Brennan and scowled. Oh, everybody’s a critic. You touch anything down here, Butterfingers?

I know my way around a crime scene.

He nodded. And I know my way around Camden Yards. But I know I don’t belong on the same field the Orioles play on, capisce?

You’re a sad little man, you know that? Her voice wasn’t as acrimonious as Brennan might have expected. He stood back and watched the pair bantering.

He leered at her. Well, I bet you could find a way to make me all kinds of happy, couldn’t you?

Let me ask you something, Hodges. When’s the last time you saw a naked woman who was actually breathing?

He was now tinkering with measuring tape and making notes in a pocket stenopad. Oh, I don’t know, he mused. Sticking his tongue out at her, he said, Probably the last time you were in the shower.

Christ, Hodges, she wrinkled her nose. Now I need another one.

Yeah? Well, give me ten minutes so I can stop for some film this time…

Meadows nodded, apparently aware that she had left herself open for that one. Sorry, Frank. Allow me to introduce you to Stan Hodges with the Crime Lab. Hodges, this is Frank Brennan. Reverend Frank Brennan, that is. One of our chaplains.

Hodges’ eyes went wide. Oh. Heh. Sorry. Ummmm…nice to meet you, Father. I was…

Just Frank is fine, Brennan replied, nodding to him, and wondering why all cops seemed to assume that Reverend meant priest.

So what have we got here? Meadows asked, suddenly all business.

Hodges shrugged. A hell of a mess. He glanced guiltily at Brennan. Sorry, Father.

Brennan rolled his eyes. What was the use?

This is interesting, Hodges remarked. Definitely looks like a lot of blunt trauma. But look here. He beckoned her down to a position across from him, so that they were leaning over the corpse from either side. He pointed to a gritty residue under what looked like the pulpy remains of the left breast. "By the way, you both want