Jessica Lee Author

Father Muldoon sat in his room, sipping lukewarm morning tea. The TV squawked to life as Sister Maria passed by it. She did so like her news. His mind had been where anyone in his position would have been. The stranger with his gory deeds; it could have been a hoax, someone testing the seal of confession, or just a deluded person off the street looking for free psychiatry. As much as he would have liked that to be true, in his heart he knew it was not. The way he described her smell, the intricacies of the knife skills needed. This guy was for real.

Dragging his thoughts away from the man he tried to focus on the day’s sermon, a voice from the news however shattered any hope of leaving that man behind.

“Prostitute Marcella Sanders was found today in a motel often used for her business. The coroner is not releasing cause of death but our source says that the girl’s eyes were removed as well as other pattered carvings drawn into her body.  The motels operator…”

The reporter droned on but Father Muldoon heard nothing more. He could tell them the cause of death. It was a big knife to the heart.  The stranger’s voice reminded him of how ‘yummy’ the sound was.  His teacup crashed to the saucer causing Sister Maria to jump.

“Everything alright, Father?” She asked her voice once again showing her concern.

“No, it’s not.” His sounded weary, even to himself, but he couldn’t be dishonest with her.

Sister Maria shook her head. The dark grimy man who practically ran from the confessional yesterday afternoon was surely the cause, but the vows taken that ensure the sanctity of confession prevented Muldoon from whispering a word to her, even if it was tearing him apart.

“I need to pray.” He reached out for Sister Maria who took him to the chapel and left him alone with his troubled thoughts.

Detective Fate looked on as the crime scene people did their bit. He rubbed his eyes, the big gulp coffee doing nothing to drive the grit of a twenty-hour shift from his eyes. He’s seen many sickos come and go, memories they made that loomed larger and more grotesque then life as he tried to fall asleep. 

Therefore, this guy was no new pony. Body parts had been taken before. What got to him about this one, was the lack of hesitation.  The new kid was old hat at this. He had no doubt when he took the particulars back to the station and put them into the computer , at least a few more unsolved cases with this MO would pop up. This was not his first time.

The way working girl cases went, it probably wouldn’t be the last either. As much as he hated it, they went on the bottom of the stack. Some even felt that they got what they deserved living a life like this. Fate felt differently.  The letter of the law said one thing about this way of life, but the girls hardly ever harmed anyone, and besides, no matter what life you chose, nobody deserved to be carved up like this.

The coroner walked towards him.

“Detective Fate.” He always sounded so well-rested.  Fate kind of hated that.

“Hey Doc, what’ve you got for me?”

“From preliminary examination, her eyes and the carvings were done post mortem. There is a single stab wound to the heart that I am thinking is cause of death, but I can’t tell you for sure till I get her on my table. I will say this, you may be looking for a surgeon. There’s a curious lack of damage to the ocular cavities.  Our killer scooped them out almost flawlessly.” He shook his head, moving back into the room to assist getting the body onto the gurney.

“Fantastic, a psycho with a heart and skill.” Fate mumbled heading back to his car.

The squad room was dark; it smelled strongly of coffee and white out.  Most of the chairs were unoccupied. Detective Fate sat silently, his desk in the shadows, his hunched form easy to miss in the gloom.

He had been right, fifteen other unsolved cases with the same MO had popped up and that just covered the last 10 years and this part of the country. He would have to wait for start of business to get the older ones and those from the east coast.

He had hoped that having the other cases would shed some light on what he was looking at, but it only made him more confused. One was a mother of two, another a history professor at a community college, then a crack head, and yet another high school senior. There was absolutely no pattern to his choice of victims. Some mere months apart, some years. Detective Fate ran his hand through his deep brown hair, causing it to stand up in all kinds of strange ways.

He tabled all the things he didn’t know for now. What he did know was that he had a serial killer on his hands, and that meant FBI. He could not stop the audible groan. Those goons from the FBI field office were insufferable jerks with god complexes.  They did more harm than good to an investigation, but procedure mandated their involvement. Tipping back in his chair and loosening his tie, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what this perp might look like.

After a few moments, all he got was a cross between Freddy Kruger and Michael Myers. He sat forward with a smirk on his face.  He was tempted to draw up a flyer about a crispy guy with butcher knives for fingers.  The Feds would love it.  Sometimes it was his odd sense of humor that got him through.  Tomorrow was going to be a very long day. Between filling in his boss, visiting the morgue, and awaiting the goon squad. Now would be his only chance for sleep. With that in mind, he groggily made his way to the lounge. Within moments of his head hitting the lumpy worn cushion, he was fast asleep.

Outside on the street Jethro moved quickly he ran almost blindly through the crowded streets his eyes downcast, he had to get home, had to get somewhere safe when the visitation happened, he was vulnerable when the visitor came, he had to be safe. He stumbled like a common drunk through the drab halls of his apartment building, feeling the rough wood of the stairs on his shins as he drug himself up the last few. The door was barley closed behind him when the tremors started.  He rolled over staring at the peeling paint on his ceiling a brief moment before he just let go and let it happen and gave in.

 To anyone witnessing the event it would have looked like convulsions or a seizure. His eyes rolled up in his head, mouth twisting into a grimace of extreme pain. His legs jumping, causing a sharp clacking sound as the heel of his boots made contact with the floor. It was a frightening sight, but nowhere near, what Jethro was experiencing. It always started the same the blindness, the cold. The bone chilling cold, he wrapped his arms around himself. Then the smell, Jethro had never really been able to identify what it was, but it was earthly and damp, what he imagined it would smell like to stand in a fresh grave. He stood very still wishing he could just retreat from this place, take that fathers advice and let life be, but he knew better, the visitor was coming and another one would die.

A burst of bright light caused him to stumble backwards. He took a deep breath the cold searing his lungs. Emerging from the light the visitor came. Tall and broad, wrapped in shadow no details discernable. A low chuckle emanated from the shadowy form, as it stepped closer. Even up close, its body was swirled in shadow.  Something inside Jethro told him the visitor was male, even if he had never heard more than a throaty chuckle from it. He waited anxiously even if it was always the same it was still terrifying.

 The form reached out its hand laying it heavily on his shoulder. His eyes as if on command flicked to the shadowy face.  With another deep rumbling chuckle, the creature opened its eyes Jethro was blinded instantly by the brown light pouring from its eye sockets. As he started into the lights transfixed the buzzing began in the back of his head, low and just enough to cause prickles of pain. A reminder of what was in store unless he found and returned a set of brown eyes to the visitor.

With a whoosh of frigid air and another bolt of blinding light he was gone and Jethro found himself lying in the front hall of his shitty apartment, he raised his sweaty hand to dry the lines of spit off his chin. He lay a few moments longer but the need for nicotine brought him to his feet. Making his way shakily to his armchair he sank in, ignoring the sharp poke from the springs poking through the threadbare covering. From his pocket, he retrieved a rumpled pack of camel non-filters. His experienced fingers tapped out a smoke and lit it quickly. He inhaled deeply the hot smoke repelling the chill that lingered in his chest.

He had been concerned that the visitor would have known that he spoke with the priest and have been angry. However, the visit has been the same as always. The cold, the smell, the color. He let out a long puff of smoke the shadows in his apartment grew longer as he sat thinking. Night would come soon, be the easiest to get the kill in the dark.  He ran a roughened hand over his face. Once he had been psyched rushing out the door as soon as he knew what he was after, hungry for the hunt, the kill.

 Now he was getting old, he still felt no guilt, no remorse, he was just tired.  How many had he killed? He didn’t even know. It started infrequently, hell the first two were 3 years apart. Then a year or so apart, sometimes they came in bursts. One every couple of months then none for years, there was no rhyme or reason to the visitor’s schedule. The first visit had come thirty years before, when Jethro was a mere pup of 19. Here he was staring down the barrel of 50 and he’d lived in more places then he could remember the names of, and knew about a handful of the names of those he killed.

 This was the first visit in this city, he strained to remember how long he’d been here, it had been only a months, cause he still had cash from the ATM job in Tulsa.  His practiced hand reached for the cheap bourbon on the table beside him.  He took a deep swig, allowing the liquid to satisfy both his hunger and his thirst. He watched the shadows grow as twilight faded into night leaving his place a pool of shadows. 

He knew he could waste no more time the buzzing was coming. He may have lost his zest for the slaughter but nothing could convince him to allow those sounds and pains to render his head apart from the inside. A symphony of pops and crackles accompanied his movements. Another deep swig for energy and out the door he went.

The streets were crowded, it took him a few moments to figure out why, Friday night he thought. This is going to be easier than originally anticipated.  Picking the least grimy wall he found outside a popular dancing place, he leaned against it just watching. She would come to him; they were just as drawn to him as he was to them. Much as they fought it, they knew deep inside they had been marked by the visitor and it was their time.

 Hours passed, hundreds of girls went in and out. Nothing. He began to doubt himself wondering if he had been wrong about this spot. I will wait just a bit longer he decided rubbing the back if his head absently. 

She sized him up from down the street. Not a bum, probably a junkie, looking to score, but hey junkies had money and rent was due. She straightened the barley there skirt she wore, pulling the front of the top down to show off her full breasts. Marcella was not proud of what she did, but she was proud not to be a strung out junkie blowing her money on crack.  Strutting sexily up to him she poured it on.

“Hey sugar, looking for a good time?” her voice dripping with the promise of hot sex.

He did not look up. Normally she would have walked away but it was getting late and the marks were getting scarce.

“Now honey, I got what you need” She said softly her lips against his ear.

This brought a snort from the guy. Marcella was offended. Fine he wanted to stand here and stare at theses 20 something brats then fuck him. Turning her back on him, she scanned the street for other prospects. But an odd sound from the man caused her to turn back. He was looking up at her, for a mere moment their eyes met, he stumbled slightly holding up his hand and squinting his eyes as he looked at her.

A dark broad smile crossed his face.

“ As a matter o fact darlin, you do got what I need” he said moving quickly beside her slipping his arm through hers.

She sighed softly, rent paid.

She walked him back to her business room, noticing that he kept his eyes downcast. Hard to believe a man like him was shy, but her mind was already on the cash, he was a faceless pawn in her struggle to win at life.

**Disclaimer**

While a majority of my work is considered YA, the following story is not. It is violent, contains mature subject matter. Other than than please enjoy!

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Chapter 1

Father Muldoon sat silently in the constricting wooden booth. The door opened it’s creak evidence of its years of use. Shutting softly the silence was replaced with ragged breath. He listened for a long moment. He liked to let the troubled souls who came for confession start on their own terms without pressure, However this one was different, not the usually hesitation of those uncomfortable with admitting their faults this time the air felt heavy, as if his breath itself was full of sin.

Jethro closed his eyes enveloped in the smell of sin and sweat of repentance needed that seeped from the worn wooden boards around him. His face twisted into a predatory smile that would have driven anyone near him away in revulsion. His pearly white teeth glistened in the little light coming through the gaps in the old door. He was not sure what had brought him to this church or what had possessed him to step inside this confessional. This was a place for believers, for fools with faith and he knew better then to believe that anyone could save him now. Something had pulled him here, and he had learned long ago that denying his instincts was much more dangerous than anything they led him to. He chuckled inwardly and his instincts usually had a hell of a good time planned. His head twitched slightly to the side, he squeezed his eyes tight shut trying to fight what he knew was coming. He ran his fingers over the tight leather braid that lined his worn hat. It’s rough feel soothing him. Once he was sure, he had escaped the visitation he spoke but his eyes remained closed, just in case.  

“Now tell me, everything I say to you stays between us, right Padre?” His southern drawl was unmistakable even with this gravely tone.

Father Muldoon shuddered, gripping his rosary beads feeling the impression they left in his palm it was a simple question, one he had been asked by many cheating wives and tax evading businessman who’d sought comfort in the wooden cell. It was the voice, he knew it was not possible but it felt as if that voice had actually lowered the temperature in their space. No matter how uncomfortable this stranger made him feel he had a duty to those who sought his council. Taking a deep breath he spoke softly.

“Yes. I am bound by the seal of confession. Your words do not leave here.”

Jethro’s twisted smile became wider and infinitely crueler. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The smell of stale bourbon wafted through the grate. The Father coughed to cover his gag.

“Well then, Padre. Have I got a tale for you.”

Jethro tilted his head back until it rested on the wood behind him. His face relaxed as he traveled back into his memory the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as the images of his misdeeds flashed before his eyes. 

Father Maldoon watched him through the grate trying to gauge his expression in the shadows

“Let’s start with Roxy. She wasn’t the first.  But to this day, I think hers were the brightest I remember.  She was standing on the dock waving at some boys in a boat. Long lean legs, perfectly tanned leading up to her tight little ass covered only barley in them cut off shorts. White frilly top, perky little breasts. She weren’t wearin no bra, she was braless; probably to entice those horny teen-age boys in the boat. I was sitting on the bank just admiring the views so to speak when she turned to glance at me. Her eyes were bright green; they glowed like fucking search lights saying ‘here I am.’” His tone became more excited as he spoke of her eyes, the Father began to squirm in this seat wishing to be anywhere but where he was.

“Those eyes, man. I knew she was the one. Green, green as those fucking glass 7up bottles we used to get.”

Muldoon could hear him shifting around in the booth and moved himself further away from the grate.

“She looked at me a minute too, like she knew, she knew I was the one. I just waited, too many people, not personal enough. I watched them roast their weenies and horse around, then her and one of those boys walked off into the woods. I caught her scent, a mix of sun block and pheromones as I followed, and when I found em, I watched them from a distance for a bit. Pathetic really, the sexual fumbling of teenagers. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long. He walked off to take a piss, leaving her alone to get redressed. My chance. I moved as softly as I could, but she heard me and turned to my direction. I was blinded for a moment second by her damn eyes, but not long enough to let her escape. I pounced on her, she was gagged and gone before her sweaty l little boyfriend had finished his piss. She weighed nothing in my arms but she struggled. I’ll give her that, she was a fighter. No match for me, though, and you see, the buzzing had already started. I knew it’d just get worse; I couldn’t waste no more time foolin. I took her to a cave I’d used several times before. Laid her down gently. Her pretty face was covered in tears, but her eyes man, still fucking blazing; it was maddening. Now see, usually the pretty ones I like to play with. Ya know, get personal? But her fucking eyes were so bright they made the buzzing so intense I just couldn’t wait. I had to shut off the light.” His voice betrayed the intensity and the need so strongly that it was almost possible to sympathize with this creature if Father Muldoon hadn’t already guessed to what this man was confessing.  He leaned closer, his baser nature searching for more details.

“Now I ain’t no monster, Padre, which is what you may be thinking. I kill ‘em before I carve ‘em.  Quick and simple. I take my big knife and plunge it straight into the heart. Now I know I could break the neck or slit the throat; but there is something about the feeling of knife tip meeting the soft vulnerable flesh of the heart, the little pop you hear before all the struggles just stop that’s unmistakably delicious.” He said his voice showing no remorse.

Father Muldoon sucked in a deep breath. The evil in the air burned his lungs. This was not the first time he had heard the confession of a murder, but this was far outside anything he had ever listened to. The sheer fact that this man killed for pleasure made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. You always heard stories of the depraved exploits of men like this on the news or on 20/20, but never had he expected to be mere inches from a man like him.

“See and I wait till they stop twitchin before I start my business. First thing first, I have to shut the eyes off, but it has to be done delicately, right, because I have to take them home to the visitor.”Father Muldoon wanted to ask whom the visitor was but could not seem to find his voice, so he just nodded.

Jethro took this nod as validation to his statement and continued.

” Fish knives are really good for that. Get a sharp one that has a curved tip to it, just slide it into the eyes socket along the nose so you got something to brace the knife against. You have to press hard to get all the way under the eye to the root. But not too hard, cause you don’t want to damage the eye itself. The visitor, he gets mighty angry if they ain’t in perfect shape. So I pop out one eye, Plop! Mighty satisfyin sound. Second eye, Plop!  Gotta be gentle, them puppies is slippery with all that eye goo n blood. I gots a special case for carryin them in, nice wooden box the visitor gave me.  Only when I place them in that box does the damn light shut off and the buzzing stops. See, with Roxy is when I started cutting a bit more. At first it was just curiosity ya know? Wanting to know if blood still spurted after the heart stopped. So I slashed her wrist, didn’t get much spray, kinda disappointin; a few more cuts here and there, making patterns. Kinda like arts n crafts!” He said with a small chuckle to himself.

A soft voice spoke; pulling both the storyteller and his captive audience back to the present time and place

” Father Patrick, please forgive me for interrupting but it is getting towards Mass time and I wanted to make sure you knew” She said her voice kind.

Father Patrick took a deep breath and reached down to find the voice that so far had failed him.

“Thank you, Sister Maria, I will be along when I’m finished. I never rush a soul in need.” His voice did not quite reach its normal strength or tone. This caused the sister’s brow to wrinkle in concern.

“Of course, Father, just call when you need me to lead you.”.

Jethro relaxed.

” Hey Padre I don’t wanna keep ya, Padre. Perhaps I’ll come back again, it’s kinda nice to have someone to reminisce with.” He said like they were two old friends talking about their old neighborhood.

Father Muldoon sat a moment searching for something to say. Normally this was when he talked about God’s will, and that prayer and good deeds would wash away the guilt and misdeeds. However, he had nothing to say. There was no amount of prayer that was going to wash away theses misdeeds, and it was obvious guilt was not even a concern to this man.

“Son, I want to offer you words of comfort and guidance, but I don’t think that is why you came to meI should tell you to turn yourself into the authorities but we both know that’s not going to happen. I must urge you, however, not to take another life.  All life is sacred, please try to remember that.” He paused to think of some way to convince him of this fact when he heard the door of his cell slam. He sat a long moment, praying silently for a moment, hoping that his words had gotten through, but he wasn’t hopeful. Most of him was absolutely repulsed by the things he had heard, but just a sliver was curious, who was this visitor? Was he real, or just a figment of a twisted mind? What had driven him to this life? Father Muldoon sighed deeply. There were too many questions, and he could not be sure he wanted the answers. The temperature in the cell seemed to have returned to normal, but even after his departure the stench of booze, grime and evil lingered just on the other side of the grate.

The organist began to tune up and the Father knew he must get on with his other duties. He stepped out into the cool air of the church; it was refreshing to his skin but did nothing to cleanse his mind. 

Hello!

Welcome to my web page, I am glad you are here! If your a fan of Eden, thank you for your support. ( If you have not yet read it look down the page to the button and click it’s free!) I am currently writing the sequel to a book that is still in editing and there will be lots more about that at a later time. I will be writing a serial, updating every Monday starting on Halloween! Check back for frequent updates and feel free to contact me at any time!

~Jessica~

 It has come to my attention that in some formats (Nook/Kindle) that words are randomly being deleted, I’m working with smashwords to rectify this.