Radu-Chapter XXXIX (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)

Links to previous Chapters are listed at end of this Chapter.
Radu-Chapter XXXIX (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
9 pages approximate
Khoska was highly disturbed by the last communication he received from Phelps, who seemed to have disappeared, a fact that did not bode well. No one seemed to have heard from him or otherwise had any clue as to his whereabouts. His old boss at the Baltimore Enquirer, Mr. Dietrich, had no idea where he could be, but seemed inordinately concerned for his safety, pleading with Khoska to keep him informed.

Khoska had no idea how to proceed with the news he received in a large manila envelope, which contained many disturbing photos. One revealed four individuals standing outside what Khoska was almost certain was the old Krovell mortuary. One of them was almost certainly the Baltimore detective, James Berry, in the company of a young girl Khoska was almost equally certain was the young girl who recently disappeared from the care of his youngest daughter. Yet, that girl returned after an absence of weeks, seemingly unharmed. His daughter’s current welfare was an all together different matter. At any rate, the picture did not reveal sufficient detail as to insure a proper identification of the girl. There was not even a slight view of her face or profile.

As for the other two, they looked to be of frightful countenance, particularly the man. Khoska prevailed upon Dietrich to assist him, and the tabloid editor did so by enlarging the photos. Khoska was horrified at what he saw. The woman looked to be a walking corpse in at least an intermediate though seemingly stalled stage of decomposition. As for the man, he seemed, to all intents and purposes, a mummified and yet obviously reanimated entity, who, though alive and so seemingly immortal, could not obscure his true age, which would seem more accurately measured not in decades, but in centuries.

“I know who that man is,” Dietrich observed. “That’s James Berry, a decorated veteran of the force. He’s been relieved from duty, according to what I’ve heard, pending some kind of internal police investigation, though I have no idea what it’s about. I do know he’s in the hospital right now. Unfortunately, he’s in quarantine, so he can’t be of any help. Even if he wanted to, from what I hear, he’s near death. As for these other people-well, your guess is as good as mine as to who they are. It’s just too bad Phelps wasn’t able to get a good shot of the girl’s face.”

The old man seemed not so much agitated as worried, probably over Phelps and the potential danger he might be in, assuming he was even yet alive.

“So, anyway, what’s all this other stuff?”

“It’s a list of mostly major cities, here and around the world. There are more than three hundred of them all together, yet there is no discernible connection to them other than their inclusion on this list. There is no indication as to the reason for the list at all. I was curious as to whether this might have something to do with the current epidemics that plaque so many areas of the country.”

Dietrich looked at Khoska with a growing sense of dread.

“Surely you don’t think this is some kind of conspiracy,” he said. “Who would be behind such a thing? What would be the purpose behind it?”

“I think there is more to it than that,” Khoska said. “I honestly believe that is merely the beginning. In fact, I have a strong feeling that this is merely a diversion. Of course, at our advanced ages, the diversion could be a merciful one, compared to what I feel is coming.”

“Well, I just got my check-up, and I have a medical plan for all the employees here. So far, no one has suffered anything out of the ordinary. Still, it looks bad, and it can always get worse. ‘Behold, a pale horse, and the name of he who rode upon him was Death, and Hell followed with him.’ I used to be an altar boy, back in another, happier time. I’ve been thinking about that passage a lot these days.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for the last forty years,” Khoska replied. “I always thought I would be prepared. Believe me, you can never be prepared when it really finally happens.”

“You don’t think-this is it, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Khoska replied grimly, but his inner concern was palpable. He avoided mention of his son, though aware that Dietrich had to have been aware of the relationship. The other pictures had Dietrich’s attention focused to great extent on the man who Phelps seemed to have photographed at various angles, and in other settings. Outside of what looked to be the Romanian Embassy in Washington. Outside of what looked to be a Goth nightclub, judging from the looks of a number of exiting patrons, though in an undetermined locale. There was another outside of a large office skyscraper, conversing with what looked to be a passing prostitute, who smiled eagerly while engaging him in conversation.

“This is incredible, but you know something? I do not think this is the way he looks-not in real life. Judging from the casual nature of the conversations in these pictures, the relaxed nature of his companions, even the general reactions of passers-by in the photos, it is as though there is nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary about him. Even these Goth kids should have some kind of reaction out of somebody that seems to look actually this horrible. Yet, there is nothing. The prostitute, if that’s what she is, seems to regard him as though he were just another potential client. I think this might be Washington as well, and”-

Cruiser suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, as he peered closely at the photograph.

“My God, this picture was just taken two weeks ago,” he said. “Phelps has been missing for twice that long. He’s alive. Why in the hell doesn’t he contact me-or somebody? You would think he would at least have written some kind of explanatory note when he sent you these pictures.”

“Maybe he didn’t have time,” Khoska volunteered, though relieved at the realization that Phelps was possibly yet alive and enjoying relative freedom of movement. “Possibly, he had to move fast and”-

“But he had time to take pictures, and a camera to take them with? That makes even less sense. Unless-he’s working on a big story and is afraid I might blow his cover. That’s it-he’s afraid I’ll come looking for him. That can only mean he is in real danger, even if he’s convinced whoever he’s with that he’s one of them, for now.”

“Or maybe he really is with them, and these pictures are meant to point away from the truth, not towards it?”

Dietrich paused to consider Khoska’s observation as-to the old Priests annoyance-he lit up a cigar.

“Aren’t those things likely to lower you resistance to disease?” he inquired. “Also, are they not illegal in public buildings such as this?”

“Phelps would never do that,” he said, ignoring Khoska’s complaint as he lowered himself to his chair, still pondering the photos. “These pictures were probably taken with a small hand held camera. He might have even purchased it while out on some errand, and then disposed of it.

“You know, I think this prostitute is the same one that was murdered a couple of weeks ago. A DC cop found her in an alley with her throat slashed open, almost completely drained of all her blood. A similar murder occurred in Washington outside the Romanian embassy, and a Gothic nightclub on the outskirts of Georgetown. I bet this is the same club. It almost looks like Phelps is following this guy, keeping tabs on him, whoever he is.”

“His name is Marlowe Krovell,” Khoska said. “The picture of him with Berry is outside the family’s old mortuary. I am almost positive it’s him. I think I know who the woman is as well, but I do not even want to think about that right now. That other picture I showed you, of Grace Rodescu-do you know anything about that, or where it was taken?”

“Yes, it was a house in Georgetown. It belongs to a lobbyist and minor diplomat by the name of Edward Akito. He’s a real scary individual, but shadowy. What his role in all this is I can’t even begin to guess at. His wife died a few years back from an advanced case of what amounts to a form of Mad Cow disease. There were rumors in some circles that it was the result of cannibalism-in particular, that she contracted the disease by eating the brains of infants.

“I ran a story on it, and was going to do a series, but then I was almost forced to print a retraction. Akito was intent on bringing a lawsuit, and in the meantime informed me that his wife spent a considerable amount of time in England during a period of outbreaks of the illness. She in fact traveled the world on a consistent basis. I dropped the story and never heard form him again.”

“Where exactly did you hear this?” Khoska asked, growing more alarmed by the minute.

“Grace,” he said. “She gave me no explanations, only that she had a very reliable source, but that she was unable to share it with me. To tell you the truth, I had the distinct impression that she herself was the source. Still, I could get nothing out of her, and when the story was dropped, she seemed-well, almost relieved. It was all very strange, even unsettling. Now, here she is, visiting his home. I don’t know what to make of it.”

When Khoska left the Examiner’s office building, he first intended to stop at Johns Hopkins to see Phillip. Yet, his son was still in a coma, so he saw no need to do so. He was not likely to learn anything of value, nor was it possible for him to see Detective Berry-which would not be advisable at any rate, in Berry’s condition. Nevertheless, he did stop at Doctor McCann’s office to pick up some penicillin and some other immune boosters, though McCann advised him to use them sparingly.

“Overuse can induce tolerance, which would make them worthless,” he explained. Take them every three or four days, and rotate them, and you should be fine. Take them in different mixtures and quantities when you do take them.”

Khoska promised him he would do so, and then questioned him about Doctor Chou.

“How well do you really know him?”

“Not well, to tell you the truth. He is a better than average physician, but I never refer anyone to him, because I always suspected he was a bit of a boozer. He has changed a lot since the murder of his daughter a few months ago. He seems to have grown far more intense since he managed to get this crazy appointment to direct this new experimental program. No one seems to know anything about it, but many people are outraged that a mere general practitioner should take precedence over what should reportedly be the domain of specialists. It’s all so very mysterious, it’s really hard to fathom. Yet, he seems dedicated enough-one might even call him driven.

“I’ve also heard rumors to the effect that his wife has either left him, or something else mysterious has happened involving her, but no one knows anything. She used to be a real estate agent, but suddenly she seems to have disappeared.”

“Well, he is mysterious enough, all right,” Khoska replied. “He was one of my son’s attending physicians at one point, yet he would never return my calls. I attempted to contact him several times, all to no avail. I have spoken to no one but nurses, who seem limited in the information they can provide me. Chou’s involvement was, however, temporary. Phillip is now apparently under the care of a different physician, but damned if I know who it is. It’s almost as though no one seems to know, or is willing to tell me if they do.”

McCann seemed very disturbed at this revelation, and promised he would look into it.

“I wanted you to be his physician,” Khoska stated.

“That is very kind of you, but I’m afraid it’s as much out of my league as it would be for Chou. Your son’s injuries are of a profound nature. I would imagine he is under the care of a neurosurgeon. I’ll tell you what, hold on for a minute, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

McCann placed a call that the hospital switchboard forwarded to the Hospital Administration, and from there to a person with whom McCann seemed on cordial terms. He found himself in the position now to have to accept an invitation to some event headed by the Baltimore Philharmonic. He affirmed his calendar was clear on the date in question and, rolling his eyes, answered that he would be delighted to attend.

After what seemed an interminably prolonged period of casual conversation, McCann inquired about the status of Phillip Khoska. He seemed mystified by the time he hung up the phone.

“Frederick Sherman,” he said. “That’s odd. Sherman is a heart specialist. That makes no sense whatsoever. Did your son have any cardiovascular problems prior to his present admission?”

“Not that I am aware of, but you have to understand, me and Phillip have not been on speaking terms for several years now.”

“That is extraordinary,” McCann continued. “Someone would have had to request him, I would think, and it would have to be approved by the hospital administration. Of course, he is the head physician over your son’s case, but surely not the only one. I am certain a neurosurgeon is involved somewhere down the line, but it is still most peculiar.”

“That name sounds familiar, but I certainly never requested him. Perhaps his current wife did, but I would not know why she would do that. As far as I know, her chief concern is getting as much money as she can before the government gets it all. I am of the opinion that Phillip could be put in the care of a veterinarian for all she cares.”

By the time Aleksandre returned to The Church of The Blessed Sacrament, he found Michael on his way out of the basement.

“What are you doing down there?”

“I think we have rats,” he replied. “I almost never got to sleep last night. Every time I would doze off, I heard the sounds of scurrying through the vents from the basement. I saw no sign of anything, but just the same, I set some traps, and some poison.”

“You should be with Agnes,” Khoska said with an admonishing tone. “How is she doing?”

“There is no difference,” he replied. “She babbles, when she says anything at all. She insists the children are possessed and intend to kill her. When I tell her they have been taken to another orphanage, in another state, it seems to not make the slightest difference. She just looks herself in the mirror, and insists she is dying. Other than that, she does nothing but cry. I wonder when I shall have to start force-feeding her. She barely eats as it is. I think we should have her committed, speaking honestly.”

“Two days ago you were dead set against such an idea,” Khoska reminded him.

“I didn’t want to face the reality of her condition,” Michael replied. “I hoped with prayer and our attention she would pull out of it. I can see now that there is little hope of that.”

“Little hope of what?”

They turned at the sound of Agnes, looking weak and pale, dressed in her nightclothes, standing now in the doorway that led from the church to the attached apartments and offices.

“Agnes, you should not be out of bed,” Khoska warned her. “You are too weak.”

“Tell me the truth father,” she said. “How do I really look? I know I am marked for death, and it shall come soon. I can see it in my face, and in my eyes. Can you not see it?”

“The devil is attacking you, Agnes,” Khoska replied. “He is trying to make you believe that. You are confused and afraid, and your despair shows in your features. Believe me, there is no look of death on your face. That is something that is entirely in your mind.”

“Why are you lying to me?” she demanded. Michael stood there, his anxiety palpable, as he and Khoska watched as she withdrew a mirror from the pocket of her robe. She held it to her face. She cried profusely.

“My skin is rotting away from my face, right before my eyes,” she said. “Please stop trying to humor me, father. I can plainly see what is happening. I have failed God, and I have failed the children. I have allowed them to be infected with a Satanic evil, because I was lacking in faith. Now, God has deserted me. I never cease praying, and yet my prayers fall on deaf ears.”

She suddenly stopped, and began looking around her as though reacting to sounds that she alone could hear.

“Do you hear that? It is the children. They are laughing, waiting for their chance to tear into my like before, only it is not truly them, but the demons that have taken possession of them due to my failure.”

“Agnes, the children are not here!” Khoska almost shouted as he struggled to control his patience and temper. “You are right to recognize the influence of Satan, but you are very wrong when you say God has deserted you. When you start to believe that, you are truly defeated. You must get hold of yourself.”

“Excellent advice, dear brother-for us all, I might add,” came the voice from the front of the church. Khoska turned as though a strong wind had forced upon the doors of the church, while Michael just stared in confusion at the new arrival.

“Who are you?” he asked. Agnes remained standing, though slumped over, seemingly unaware of the entrance of the elder man and equally aged woman who stood by his side. Both of them smiled toward their wary guests.

“He is your uncle,” Khoska replied. “His name is Martin Krovell, and I assume the woman with him is his wife Louise. What exactly are you doing here?”

“Are you serious?” Michael asked as the man approached, while Nancy remained near the door.

“Well, so this is Michael,” the man said. “What a pleasant surprise. Why, I should know you anywhere.”

“Michael, please take Agnes back to her room, and no matter what you hear or no matter what happens, remain there with her until I join you there.”

Michael took Agnes by the arm and gently led her toward the doorway to the back of the church that led to the living quarters. She uttered no word in protest as Michael removed the mirror from her hand and led away.

“It is very nice meeting you, young man,” the old woman called out from the front. “I do hope your sister will be well. There is too much sadness and despair in the world as it is.”

“Thank you,” Michael replied, obviously still stunned by the unexpected visit, while Khoska stood there and fumed at the audacity of such brazen arrogance.

“I have been so looking forward to meeting you, brother-in-law,” the old woman chimed. “It is too bad we can not for now have more time to be acquainted, but perhaps we shall one day make amends, under far more pleasant circumstances.”

“I find that unlikely,” Khoska said. “Rest assured that I am not in the least bit impressed or deceived by you and your husband’s pleasantries. I am all too aware of your true natures as well as the reason for your presence here. Speak your piece and then leave here, as quickly as possible.”

“We are merely here to do the Lord’s work, my brother,” Martin replied. “It is he who led us here, you know.”

“I think your Lord has left the stench of sulfur on you. I have no time for this foolishness. I warn you, say what you have to say at once, or else I will”-

‘Oh, very well, Aleksandre. Louise, if you would be so kind as to leave my brother and myself alone for a few minutes? You may wait out in the car if you wish. I should not be too long. Perhaps while you wait you can work one of those new crossword puzzle books you insisted I buy on the way over here.”

“It’s too dark, Martin, but that’s all right. I will listen to some music. Better yet, I will just entertain myself by humming some tunes in my head, something pleasant like Camp Town Races. That way I will not run the car battery while I wait. I am sure you two brothers have much to discuss.”

“It won’t take long, believe me,” Khoska hissed as the old woman left the church.

“Really, Aleksandre, if anyone should be upset at the other, it is I who should be so at you. After all, it was almost fifty yeas ago today when I first approached you with a request to assist me in learning the whereabouts of my mother, whom I never suspected at the time was also your own. You either knew this or you soon discovered it, and yet you never saw fit to tell me the truth. You deprived me of the chance to spend even a small amount of time with her before she finally died. I never knew her.”

“Yes, perhaps that was wrong of me,” Khoska replied, “but it was my mother’s wishes that none of your family, including you, should know of her whereabouts. I had no choice in the matter. Judging from what I since learned about the Krovell branch of the family, I do not find it at all hard to understand why she felt that way. Your father brutalized her during her brief time with her, before she married my own father and now”-

“Aleksandre, you don’t understand. I do, and perfectly. I forgive you-not that there is truly anything to forgive. It is not my intention to dredge up past indiscretions and misunderstandings. Whether you like me or not, that is irrelevant. The fact is, whether you care to admit it or not, we are brothers-half brothers only, true enough, but brothers nevertheless. As such, I would feel derelict in my duties were I not to give you the opportunity to return to the one true faith of our ancestors, and to turn away from this blasphemous heresy which you now practice.”

Aleksandre trembled in rage and in shock when he heard this. For a brief moment, he was speechless, but managed quickly to regain his composure.

“Are you insane?” he demanded. “I know what you believe. You are the one who practices the heresy that is of the most abominable nature-that which involves devouring innocent flesh and blood. Your forebears took the truth of the gospel of our Lord and perverted it into a sacrament for demons. The Gospels even warned of practices such as you engage in, and denounced them clearly as of the Wicked One. The first ones who followed your vile practices were the ones Nero and other Roman emperors used to excuse the persecutions of all Christians, on the grounds of sexual perversions and cannibalism.

“When they were denounced by the true Christians, they were forced to leave, and took their vile, unholy practices with them to Dacia, where they spread them amongst the backwards pagans of that region. Even there, they were eventually denounced, and had to go underground, where they continued in small, secret enclaves throughout the centuries.

“I have known of your existence for years, though I never truly understood, until recently, that you were involved. It never occurred to me that this was the reason our mother wanted nothing to do with you. She was too ashamed to tell me the truth.”

Khoska stopped briefly, and could see the twinkle had gone out of his brothers eyes, leaving behind a barely hidden and yet smoldering rage. Yet, there was a hint of sadness there that could not help but move Khoska.

“Martin, it is not too late. I know you are not entirely responsible. Your father gave you over, as he was before you, to a reprobate mind. You were born and bred to this evil. Perhaps it is to a point understandable that you would think it is normal-perhaps even sacred. Nevertheless, although I cannot prove it, I think you are responsible for the deaths of my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren and their families. I think that”-

He stopped as it occurred to him that suddenly, Martin Krovell could no longer look him in the eyes.

“You killed Jonathon, didn’t you?” he asked. “You and that gypsy whore that you call your wife, waiting for you out there. Of course, how could I not have figured it out?”

Khoska was now beside himself with grief and rage, as Martin finally met his accusatory eyes.

“You don’t understand, Aleksandre,” he said. “All things happen for a reason. The end of the age is upon us. Did you truly believe that everything was all love and light, and that heaven waits only for those who do what the world in its wicked imagination supposes is good and holy? I know that you do not see it, nor do you want to see it, but it is your gospel that is the perverted one.

“The true Gospel of Christ follows his instructions to remember the sacrifice of his body and blood. In this world, the shedding of innocent blood is always required in order for the angel of death to pass over. No longer is it sufficient to kill a dumb animal and spread its blood over your door. That ended with the murder of our Lord.

“Nothing less than the powerful blood of the innocent is sufficient to turn back God’s wrath. What you think of as a sin you do so in carnal human terms. The heaven of God is eternal. Those innocent babes are now out of harms way of this evil world. They sit beside the throne of God, and wait our arrival, in blissful happiness.

“God’s will be done, dear brother,” Martin concluded. “Not man’s will, but God’s will be done.”

Khoska trembled now in rage. He was right. The man standing before him preaching this vile blasphemy inside his own church was responsible for the murder of his daughter-in-law and his grandchildren, along with their wives and a girlfriend, and even his young great grandchildren, going so far as to devour the flesh and blood of one of them-a mere infant. Suddenly, he glanced down at the Eucharistic table, and saw the black handled blade-the athame that once belonged to the repentant Joseph Karinsky. What was it doing here? Joseph’s knapsack also lay on the floor, its contents scattered. He did not stop to wonder why. He picked up the large ceremonial sword and glared menacingly at his brother as he fought back tears.

‘I should kill you now,” he declared. He raised the sword above his head as he advanced but, to his surprise, Martin sunk down to the floor on his knees and bowed his head-and prayed in hushed, whispered tones. This enraged Khoska even more, and he raised the sword to strike, but he hesitated.

“Do it,” Martin Krovell said. “I have seen too many years of this world’s wickedness. I am ready to leave it. I only ask that you have mercy towards my wife. Tell her that I love her, and allow her to leave here in peace. You may give any excuse you wish for my death. Tell the police that you killed me in the midst of a struggle, in which I physically assaulted you. I am sure they will find it relatively easy to believe you, brother. It so happens I am being sought by them even now for questioning in the murder of Grant. Do what you feel you must.”

Khoska lowered the blade as his stomach churned. He turned and gagged, finding it an effort to keep from throwing up.

“Get the hell out of here, Martin,” he said. “Take your gypsy wife and never return here. The next time I see you, I promise you I will kill you and her as well. You had best leave at once before I change my mind and do it now. What I have learned this night would make me more than justified.”

Martin rose, but slowly, as he kept his eyes peeled towards his half-brother. Then, he saw the athame. He smiled.

“Goodbye, Aleksandre. We will never see each other again-until the Day of Judgment.”

Every fiber of his being urged Khoska to plunge the athame into the back of his evil half-brother, but he could not bring himself to follow through with these impulses. Even though he told himself it would serve not only the cause of justice but might well prevent other atrocities, he watched, almost paralyzed with inner conflict, as Martin Krovell walked slowly out the door, not so much as turning his back as he spoke not one more word.

Khoska collapsed to the floor and broke down in uncontrollable sobs. He wished he had the courage to plunge the athame into his abdomen. What was he to do now? He had never taken a human life though he had been responsible for an attempt years earlier on the life of Grace Rodescu. He could invent justifications for such actions, although the fault there was as much with him as with her. Now, when he had the perfect opportunity to end the life of someone whose very existence was an abomination to all that was holy, he had not the strength to do it. Never had he felt such despair. He pulled himself off the floor. He now even avoided looking at the icons that adorned his small, simple church. He could feel their eyes looking down on him in judgment, and even mockery.

Then, he remembered the knapsack. Why was it here? It should be down in the basement. He reasoned that Michael must have brought them up here when he was down there earlier. Yet, why would he do that? Why did he scatter them about in this manner? He peered inside the knapsack, noting that few of Joseph’s late possessions, consisting mostly of items of clothing, remained within, being mostly scattered about on the floor at the sacristy table.

There were CDs, including two by what he learned was a Goth Metal band by the name of The Mocktones. Included in the picture on the cover was Sierra Lawson. There were other items as well, such as a used black candle, the prior use of which Khoska tried to avoid thinking about. There were also pictures, both group and individual ones, of Joseph and Sierra and all their friends, including Spiral Lamont, with whom Khoska had been very briefly acquainted. A girl with a shaved head and a tattoo on her face meant to resemble the supposed moustache and goatee many imagine sported by Satan. Joseph told him her name was Sherry Adams, called “Larceny”. A young girl named Debbie Leighton, nicknamed “Spanky”, whom Joseph confessed aided and abetted them all in the brutal murder of her own parents. A young man named Milo Richmond, who was a drug dealer as well as a heavy drug user himself. A heavy-set and muscular young man named George Dodd, called “Rhino”, whom Joseph described as mildly retarded, and extremely temperamental, yet at the same time “good hearted.”

Khoska shook his head in wonder at the irony of that assessment when he remembered how Joseph in almost the same breath related to him how Dodd joined in the live cannibalism of what turned out to be his own infant son. This was at the instigation of the one who was supposed to be his girlfriend within the group-the strikingly beautiful and yet malignantly evil girl named Raven Randall. Khoska looked upon her picture within the group, and another one taken with Joseph, and then he realized-one of the pictures was gone, the one picture taken of Raven alone, standing in front of a fountain in nothing but a tank top and a thong, an arrogantly seductive smile upon her face.

He found himself wondering if Michael took the picture for his own purposes, so abruptly as to leave the other items of the knapsack abandoned and scattered upon the floor. He remembered how Michael had a teenage habit at one time of engaging in masturbation, and now he wondered if he had ever actually stopped this disgusting habit. Surely he would not involve himself with such unseemly practices now of all times. He found himself forgetting whether this was actually Michael or his late twin Jonathon. No, it was Michael, he decided. He realized, however, that there certainly must be another explanation. He almost felt foolish.

Then, he heard a groan from above him, and the sound of footsteps, lumbering on the floor as they drew closer to him, from the direction of the basement. He looked up quickly to see the horrible looking woman who looked literally like walking death, and yet who seemed so familiar.

“Those-Arrrrre-Miiiiiiine,” she told him as he hurriedly pulled himself to his knees while looking at the photo, then back at the figure. He was right. It was she. She held the picture of herself in her right hand, but now loosed her hold on it. He watched as it dropped with a slant to the floor as she glared at him in pure malice.

“Joooo-Seph,” she continued as Khoska stared at her in open-mouthed terror. “Wheeeer-Is-He?”

She spat out each drawn out syllable as though not in complete control of her physical or mental faculties, and Khoska realized what he was dealing with.

“What-are you-doing here?” he asked as he found himself losing control of his own faculties. He was choking in terror, but found it impossible to move as the dead woman advanced a few inches closer.

“Jaaaaamesssss-Beeerrrry-seennt-meee!” she spoke louder.

Khoiska could tell the woman seemed angry and frustrated. Yet, she did not breathe as she spoke. She seemed to have to suction air into her throat in order to form her words. Though her eyes were void of any sign of life or intelligence, they seemed to focus on him with a deadly intensity, while her nostrils flared in vivid reaction to his scent. Khoska knew that the person who now stood before him was more than just a simple reanimated corpse. She was in fact little more than a wild animal with the memories of a former human life. This was a walking corpse that once contained a tortured human soul but now held no soul at all-at least not one that any could accurately describe as human.

She suctioned more air into her dead, rigid lungs and held it there as she stepped closer at a deceptively quick pace for one with such a stiff and awkward gait. Her nostrils flared wildly as her eyes focused on the shadowy figure before her. He backed up slightly whereupon she moved closer and opened her mouth, her protruding tongue lashing at the air as her yellowed teeth flashed in angry hunger. Then, she pounced. Khoska, without thinking, plunged the athame deep inside her abdomen, twisting as he withdrew it, and then aimed at her heart. She roared not so much in pain as in surprise, as Khoska, looking upon the blade and saw dried gore but no blood. Raven’s eyes now came into greater focus, but Khoska backed up quickly, toward the baptismal font which set off to the side of the wall. He scooped up a handful and threw it at her as he admonished her in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Raven screamed in terror when she felt the water touch her, but it merely enraged her more. She was soon at Khoska’s throat, lifting him up as he flailed wildly and impotently with the athame. Raven growled, and then threw him halfway across the room. Khoska landed on his lack on top of one of the middle pews and screamed in agony. Before Raven could reach him, he dropped down onto the floor and slid down under the pews.

As he scampered with unusual speed under them and toward the door, he could hear Raven growling now like an angry bear as she with seemingly little effort ripped each pew from the floor and flung it to the side. Khoska’s heart was pounding in his chest as the crazed dead woman finally ripped off the pew from above where he now lay collapsed and exhausted. She stood over him-laughing a demonically evil and shrill laugh as she bent down over him. She bared her fangs and seemed ready to sink them seep into Khoska’s thigh, when suddenly she reared up with a roar. Khoska then caught sight of the athame that protruded from her chest. She backed up in pain and terror as she looked around at the sight of Michael. It was then that Khoska saw the flames.

“Father, you have to get away now,” Michael said. Raven now stumbled around from the mortal wound of the athame, which Michael had plunged through her heart. He now grabbed up a burning altar cloth and flung it at the creature, which roared at him in horror. She tried vainly to throw off the burning cloth as the flames engulfed her clothing. Khoska made his way toward the door, while Michael ran back toward the office. Khoska turned and watched as Michael returned with a fire extinguished, and as Raven now seemed a flaming mass, screaming pitifully.

After he extinguished the flames in the church, Michael spread the foam in a circle around where the reanimated corpse yet burned, now silently, her screams of despair finally silenced. Khoska pulled himself painfully toward where Michael stood grimly surveying the horribly stinking and yet burning corpse.

“Put it out, Michael,” he said. “She is finished. If she keeps burning, it is likely to burn through to the basement ceiling.”

Michael just stood there, grimly surveying the body as the flames now seemed to die down on their own. Soon, there was nothing left but a smoldering mass that barely looked human.

“Would you like to explain to me exactly who she was?” Michael demanded. “What’s next, father? What else will we have to contend with before this is all over with?”

Khoska’s eyes now burnt from the smoke that now inundated the fire-damaged church, and was now as thick as the sickening odor of long-dead human remains, and he stumbled in exhaustion toward the front door. The smoke billowed out as he stood at the doorway. Looking around, he saw the black vulture, which perched on a lower branch of the old elm tree to the right of the front yard. It glared at him with its black eyes focused as through him, but then flew away as Michael joined him on the front porch.

“Father, we cannot deal with this on our own,” Michael Khoska said. “We need help. This is too much for either or both of us. We were very lucky this time.”

“Agnes,” Khoska suddenly whispered in hoarse realization.

“What about her?” Michael asked in dread.

At that exact instant, they both heard the blood-curdling scream emanating from inside the church from the back. Khoska dropped down suddenly to his knees in defeat. At that moment, he knew his worse fears were realized.

Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
PartThree
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII