Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 61



Kane’s office…

Day 8 of the killing pattern…

8:22 a.m.

The phone rang just as Kane was about to take his much-needed first sip of morning coffee. He hadn’t slept all night but he suddenly lit up with a spark of anticipation. Ravenwood. He picked up the phone.

“Kane here. Oh… Dr. Halverson.” The spark was quickly dowsed. “I thought…never mind. What’s the latest on… What? Jesus. Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.”

***

8:57 a.m.

Halverson led Kane into Cowl’s room, ordered the two nurses to leave and he closed the door behind them. He moved over to the patient and, with a stone cold expression etched into his face, he turned to Kane and motioned for him to approach.

“What is it?” Kane asked, moving to the side of the bed, opposite the doctor.

Halverson carefully lowered the bandage and looked at Kane. “You tell me.”

Kane leaned in, studying the odd markings. He glanced at the doctor and then back to the marks. There was no mistake about it. The scar from the wound had morphed into three small protrusions, each in the shape of a number with which Kane had become all too familiar. “Weird. Looks like three nines.”

The doctor nodded. “Perhaps. But come over here and have a look from this angle.”

Kane moved around to the other side of the bed and looked again. This time his head jerked back in recognition of what was clearly more disturbing than his first impression. “Oh, my god.” He straightened up and looked at Halverson. “Not a word about this to anyone. You understand?”

Halverson nodded. He knew if this got into the hands of the media there would be no end to the clamor. He didn’t want to deal with such a circus any more than Kane did.

Kane paced back and forth like an animal trapped in a cage. Then he stopped. “How long before he wakes up?”

“Another hour, perhaps.”

“Hmm… an hour. If he comes to, can you put him out again? Keep him sedated for like…I don’t know…indefinitely?”

“Of course, but––”

“No time for buts, doctor. This case just ratcheted up to another level. Don’t even ask me to explain. I just need you to––”

“No explanation required, Lieutenant.”

Kane looked relieved. Apparently the doctor had at least some sense of what might be going on here. After all, it didn’t take a degree in theology to recognize those three numbers. Even a non-believer would have to admit it was a rather disturbing coincidence.

“All right,” Kane said. “I have to go back to my office. No one comes into this room. Got it?” As he reached the door, he turned and looked at Cowl resting peacefully on the bed. “And for damn sure, that guy right there doesn’t leave this room under any circumstances. Got that?”

There was an unmistakable apprehension in Halverson’s eyes but, again, he gave an assuring nod as Kane disappeared quickly out the door.

Kane strode briskly down the long hall toward the elevator, his mind racing. The elevator was filled with people as he stepped inside but he was singularly alone and adrift in a swirling cloud of erratic thoughts.

Ravenwood––for whatever reason––had left him to sort this out for himself. Damn her, anyway. What the hell is she thinking? He thought about what he’d just told Halverson… keep Cowl sedated… make sure he doesn’t leave the room.

Under ordinary circumstances, that would make perfect sense. Keep the suspect sedated and secure, unable to carry out his agenda. But these were not ordinary circumstances and there was just one gaping hole in the plan: Even while Cowl was in a coma, laid flat out under the crisp white sheets of a hospital bed with medical staff coming and going, he had somehow managed to carry out the sacrificial ritual that took Harlan Bodine’s life. The present set of circumstances was not ordinary by any definition. The sedation solution would probably be about as effective as a condom on a dildo. He gave his head a shake. I’m definitely out of my comfort zone here.

The elevator door slid open. Kane stepped out and hurried to the exit on his way to the parking garage. Damn it, Ravenwood. Where the hell are you?

As he fastened his seat belt and slid the key into the ignition, he suddenly felt choked by the weight of the biggest albatross still hanging around his neck like a living corpse: Pastor Pete, the next and final victim on the list.

He sat still, gripping the steering wheel of the patiently idling vehicle and stared blankly at the gray concrete wall two feet in front of the car. He considered his options.

On the one hand, the decrepit old bastard deserved what was coming to him. Put him out of his f*cking misery. Great idea. Except for one thing. The ritual sacrifice of the old man would signal the beginning of hell on earth for everyone.

The other option was to try saving the old man, protect him somehow from the madness of Cowl’s magick and spare the world from a virtual holocaust of unthinkable horror.

Even though his years on the Force had convinced him that half the world’s population probably deserved such a fate, he thought about Sarah. He drew in a long breath and let it go, resigned to what he knew was his only option.

He threw the car into reverse and shoved the stick into Drive. The screech of the tires echoed throughout the parking garage.