Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 38: The Next Day



10:00 a.m.

The glorious morning sun streaming in through Peter Kane’s bedroom window was immediately devoured by the dark storm of terror and confusion swirling around inside the old preacher’s head. The turmoil had become unbearable.

Another fitful, nearly sleepless night had passed, pushing him one day closer to the horrific fate he knew awaited him. There was no way out, no one to turn to for help.

Several times he wrestled with the idea of calling his son but what good would it do? Yes, he knew the identity of the killer and, yes, that would help bring an end to the murders and, yes, it would even save his own wretched life. But Brian would want to know how he knows all this and then he’d have to confess his horrendous deeds. Not that it would be much of a shock to the hardened Lieutenant. Still, the very thought of confessing his sins to anyone, least of all to his own son, caused his stomach to twist into knots. He couldn’t do it. Even if it meant he’d be saving his own life from an unthinkable end. He just couldn’t do it. He shook the idea out of his head.

His son hated him for what he’d done. They hadn’t spoken to each other in years. How could he have done such a horrible thing to his own son? Why had he done it to any of the boys? He couldn’t help himself. The urge would rise out of nowhere, dark, overwhelming and beyond his control and it made him feel… powerful…and wretched at the same time. Afterward he would pray and it would be okay because God always forgave him. He had to believe God forgave him because he knew that God knew that he couldn’t forgive himself any more than he could forgive his own uncle, his father’s brother, for passing the curse on to him. He hated his uncle for that. Hated him.

He peeled away the sweat-soaked sheets and maneuvered himself into a sitting position and let his mostly useless, skinny legs dangle over the edge of the bed. He needed a distraction. He needed to clear his head. He grabbed the TV remote from the nightstand and gave it a click. The small TV on the dresser across the room lit up. Channel-4 News was on:

…like Seattle’s going to be in for another scorcher today with temperatures reaching nearly ninety-five degrees in some of the outlying areas. The lows tonight…

As the weatherman droned on, Peter Kane stared at the upper drawer of the nightstand for several minutes, then leaned over and pulled it open. The .22 caliber snub-nose revolver he’d purchased years ago was loaded and waiting to defend him against an intruder, any intruder. It had been loaded and waiting since the day he’d purchased it.

He reached down and picked up the weapon, felt the weight of it in his hand. He knew somewhere Rodney Duckworth was planning to take the life of victim number eight, just two days from now. I could stop it from happening. I could help save someone’s life, for God’s sake. All it would take is a call to Brian. If I don’t do something… I’ll be next. But I can’t do it. God help me, I can’t do it.

He clenched his eyes tight, tears seeped out, streaming down the crevasses of his weathered face. A soft, pitiful moan rattled up from his throat. His stomach convulsed as a sickening mix of shame and guilt washed through him, not just for the things he’d done in the past but for the cowardly, self-serving act he was about to commit. He hated himself even more than he hated his uncle. He hated himself even more than he was hated by his own son. He was trapped in a web of hate, guilt, shame, and fear. There was only one way out. He slowly turned the gun toward himself and jammed the cold steel barrel up under his chin. His hand was shaking as his finger found the trigger and began to squeeze.

…has learned that Rye Cowl, the lead singer of the band, Mega Therion, was shot yesterday…

The old pastor’s eyes snapped open, his finger froze on the trigger.

Two of the band members found him at his home, alive but unconscious…

He lowered the gun. Had he heard right? He exchanged the revolver for the remote and turned up the volume.

… was rushed to Virginia Mason Hospital where he is reportedly in a coma. No further details have been released and police are not commenting on rumors that this incident is somehow connected to the death of Pastor Martin St. Martin. You may recall, St. Martin was the clergyman who organized a large protest against Cowl and his band a couple of weeks ago but was mysteriously killed at the concert hall just hours before the concert was scheduled to…

He clicked off the TV and stared at the blank screen. His dazed reflection stared back at him as his thoughts raced in circles trying to grasp the not-so-subtle implications of this development. The deep creases in his brow gradually softened as it dawned on him what this could mean. God does move in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform. That young man’s death would be my salvation.

He carefully slid from the edge of the bed and lowered himself to his knees. He’d prayed for many things over the course of his troubled life but he’d never prayed for someone’s death and he didn’t know if he could do it now. Would he be forgiven for praying for the death of another human being? That he was even thinking such a thing caused him to tremble and the tears flowed once more. He cried out to God for an answer but none came. God was leaving it up to him.