The Day of Legion (13 page)

Albert put his cup down and leaned in. “Make no bones about it. There are demons walking amongst us here on earth. These forces are all around us every day and they try to influence us constantly, but we fight them subconsciously. Thankfully most of us are naturally virtuous. There are some, however, who destroy those special people who would disrupt their plans. These recruited individuals are wicked people, fortunately few, and they eliminate the identified people as well as their family members. The woman who tried to kill you tonight is one such person; she has been greatly rewarded for her acts against people like you for generations.”

Patricia listened but would have none of it. She wanted to leave, but decided to go along because she didn’t want to upset either of them. Their fantasies were obviously quite real to them; she could see that; upsetting them could make them unpredictable. She had met religious fanatics before in therapy sessions, but this was the first time she had heard
this
slant on good versus evil.

Albert leaned back in his chair and looked at David. “She doesn’t believe us,” he said to him.

David nodded. “I know.”

Patricia tried to lie. “No, no I believe you, it’s just a lot to take in.”

The old man chuckled. “It’s okay, Patricia,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. We can’t make you believe. You can leave anytime you want to. We are the good side.”

She looked at David. He nodded and smiled at her, then turned to his father. “Should I show her some of what we have?”

Albert nodded.

Patricia watched as David walked to the table with the computer and went through some of the many files stacked all around it. She then looked at Albert. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She could see he was studying her, but his gaze didn’t make her uncomfortable. She suddenly realized she felt safe here, probably safer than she had felt in a long time.

David returned and sat down. He passed a file to his father. It was a plain manila folder with nothing written on it, about three inches thick. He placed it on his lap and looked Patricia in the eye.

“Do you remember I said the woman who tried to kill you has been doing what she’s been doing for generations?”

Patricia nodded her head. It was one part she quite disbelieved, the part that scared her the most.

“That woman is one of the nastiest bitches to ever walk this earth, and she has done so for longer than you and I put together.”

He handed her a photograph from the file. Patricia literally jumped when she looked at it: It was unmistakably the woman from her apartment. She was in a bar, laughing, with her arm around a man, who was smiling hugely.

“Where was this taken?” she asked.

“That was seized by police off Jason Hansen’s father; he’s the man next to her. It was in his computer hard drive. He met her at a local bar and took her home, had sex with her. Next thing he knows, he’s in prison for her murder.”

Patricia was confused. “So he was put in jail for nothing?” she asked. “She’s not dead–the bitch tried to kill me tonight!”

The old man showed her another photo. This one made her feel sick. It was the body of a woman, discarded in a roadside ditch. At first Patricia didn’t recognize her. She was naked, blue and lying twisted in an unnatural position; then she saw it was the same woman.

“That photo is from the police file for John Hansen depicting his victim, before she appeared at your door to kill you.”

“The photo is a fake?” she asked. “Was Jason’s father framed?”

“Yes and no,” David replied. “She was murdered, but not by John Hansen. He was set up to look like the killer.”

“I don’t get it,” Patricia said. “You’re saying she was murdered days before she tried to kill me.”

Both men nodded. David replied, “She died that night, bludgeoned to death by a helper and dumped in the ditch to look authentic. Then she reappeared not long afterwards.”

Albert handed Patricia another photo. It was the same woman, this time she was standing on a city street with another woman. Their arms were around each other and they were standing cheek-to-cheek, laughing. It must have been winter because they wore woolen hats and scarves and long, thick coats.

“The woman she is with is dead. She killed her. The photo was taken in 1998.”

Patricia raised her eyebrows again. “She looks exactly the same as she does now.”

Albert passed her another photo. This one showed her on horseback with a handsome man. They were in the country with rolling hills and green grass behind them. The sun was shining and they both looked happy. The photo quality wasn’t as good as the last ones.

“This man was murdered as well,” Albert told her. “This was taken in 1973.”

Patricia stared at the photo, trying to comprehend what she was being told. Albert passed another photo. This one showed the woman with her arm around a young man. They were both laughing and obviously were at an office party. There was a banner hanging on the wall behind them which read, ‘Congratulations Michael and Lisa’. Other office workers were standing around them, raising glasses in celebration. Their clothes were dated and the office furniture old fashioned. The hair styles of the women were from the sixties; either in large buns or very long with exaggerated curls. The men’s hair was long, flowing down the backs of their necks and covering their ears. It reminded Patricia of The Beatles’ hair styles. Old-style typewriters sat on the desks around the room.

“The young man in this photo was twenty-one when she killed him,” Albert told her. “They got engaged, hence the office celebration. She married him with the intention of having a baby to see what the result would be–he was an identified person to them. They wanted to see how the offspring would turn out. The baby was found to be a future problem for them, so she killed it–and her husband, to prevent him from having any more. That was 1962.”

“I...I...can’t believe this stuff,” Patricia said, looking Albert in the eye. “It’s just too crazy, I’m sorry.”

He just smiled at her and passed her a small pile of photos. As she looked through them she saw the same woman each time with different people. The photos seemed to be in reverse chronological order, until the second-to-last one, which looked like early sixties as well. It was a black and white photo showing the woman with a man in a restaurant. She was wearing a long, dark-blue evening dress with a large ‘V’ shaped back. Her small blue hat was angled elegantly. The man was wearing a double-breasted suit and a felt fedora. It reminded Patricia of Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.

“1960,” Albert told her, as if reading her mind. “That man she’s with is me. She killed my father, thinking it would stop a future problem for them—me—but what she didn’t know was I had already been conceived. When I was old enough, she lured me in. I didn’t know who she was then. I was seeing her and my wife— David’s mother—at the same time.”

He stopped momentarily and looked at the floor. “I’m embarrassed to say I was tempted by this bitch. I had a long and, I thought, amazing affair. Until she tried to kill me, of course.”

Patricia looked at the last photo in the stack. It was black-and-white, very poor quality, very old. It was yellowing at the edges and much of the picture was faded. It showed an overweight and somber-looking woman, wearing a dress with a high neckline and a bonnet. Next to her was a man wearing a very-old-styled suit, also with a high collar. They were both sitting against a wall, their hands crossed on their thighs and staring into the camera with glum looks on their faces. It looked like it was pre-1900.

“Who are these people?” she asked Albert.

“That is Isaac and Clara James. Isaac James was a strict preacher in the late 1800’s, Clara was his wife. Isaac was extremely religious and quoted the bible to anyone who would listen, and insisted on taking the scriptures literally. He was considered an extremist, even back during those more-restrained times. He insisted he and Clara attend church every day and night, and live exceedingly righteous, decent lives. He demanded they never have sex, never drink alcohol, never use perfumes or makeup, refrain from swearing and pray constantly.”

“Clara grew to hate Isaac and everything about him, especially his beliefs. She slept with any man, woman or boy who would have her and enjoyed violent, degrading sex. She was a sexually sadistic psychopath. Her appetite was stifled by Isaac, so one night she killed him. She waited for him to fall asleep and slit his throat. He was found the next morning by a maid. Clara admitted everything and appeared pleased to be going to jail. She died weeks later, killed by another inmate before the case could go to trial.”

“What do they have to do with this other woman who tried to kill me?” Patricia asked.

“On that night Clara made a covenant with evil, either before or after she killed Isaac. In return she wanted extraordinary beauty and immortality, and, if granted that, she would do the work of evil for eternity. Clara James is the woman in all of these photographs, and is the woman who tried to kill you tonight. She was given incredible beauty, and has used that beauty to attract her targets. At the same time, she has used it to satisfy her deviant urges when she’s not working on a specific target. Her looks allow her to pick up any man or woman who is single or not averse to sleeping around.

“Some of these people she has killed, some she has blackmailed or bribed, some have suicided; while others have become her servants, willing to do anything for her, no matter how depraved..”

“Right,” Patricia replied. “It’s a good story, but impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?” David asked. “There is far more in this life than you or I can ever comprehend.”

“Because this just doesn’t happen.”

Albert showed her another photo. It was a police mug shot of a man in his early thirties. He looked reasonably normal, other than the fact it was taken during an arrest procedure.

“Who’s he, another immortal evildoer?” she asked. She instantly regretted sounding so sarcastic.

“He’s one of her helpers. His name is Paul Maloney, also Patrick Maloney,” Albert replied, handing her another photo. This one showed a dead man on what looked like a bright steel bench. One side of his skull was caved in and his head lay crooked. His skin was blue and showed signs of lividity.

“Recognize him?” David asked her.

“It’s the man in the mug shot,” she replied. “What happened to him?”

“He took a fall,” David replied, “from Jason Hanson’s hospital window. He is the intruder. Now, look at this.”

He pulled a camera out of his jacket pocket and walked over to the computer. He plugged the camera in and brought the pictures up on the monitor.

“Look at this,” he said to Patricia.

She walked over and stood behind him. It was a photo of a man and a woman standing on a street at night outside a building.

“That’s my apartment front,” Patricia said.

“Do you recognize the people standing in front of your building?” Albert asked her from his seat.

Patricia leaned in slightly. “It’s the dead guy and that woman.”

“I took that photo tonight, days after the autopsy photo you just saw,” David told her. “Just before she came to kill you.”

He clicked the mouse. The next picture showed them still standing there, but this time the man was on the phone. “That’s him calling you to see if you’re home. I expect you got a hang-up call or a wrong number tonight?”

Patricia nodded. “I got a hang up.”

David clicked the mouse again. The next picture showed the woman talking to another man at the apartment building’s entry door. Patricia recognized him as a young man from the floor below her.

“She convinced this guy to let her in the building,” David said. “He was besotted by her and agreed to it. I couldn’t hear what she said, but the body language was very suggestive. Patrick killed him, by the way. He stabbed him in the neck and back after he let her in. There was no reason to do that, other than he gets pleasure from it.”

He clicked the mouse again. The next picture showed Patrick dragging the body behind the large plants in the foyer and the back of the woman as she walked toward the stairs.

“I drove around the corner after that to try and get in the building, but in moments I heard gun shots and saw you coming down the fire escape. I ran to the car and picked you up.”

“And here we are,” Albert said. “Filling your head with something you find impossible to believe.”

Patricia sat back down. She wanted to believe. She was starting to believe.

“Where have all these photographs come from?” she asked.

“Mostly from police evidence files,” David told her. “They often take photos to set up their targets. Take John Hanson. That photo of him and the woman was found on his hard drive, along with the incriminating photographs of him engaging in sex with her. We believe they were taken by his ‘friend’ Patrick Maloney. They set him up. She called herself ‘Rachael Lewis’ to John Hansen. Also, we know they like trophies, so we’ve managed to get photos and other items when we’ve tracked them down, causing them to flee.”

“We also believe Patrick Maloney was the instigator of John’s prison death. We have a copy of a report from the prison; they had an issue with a new prison guard who showed up the day before John died, left the next. When they tried to track him down through their office, they found no employment record for him. He did, however sign the register as ‘Patrick Moon’, an alias he’s used before. They are cocky, arrogant and overconfident, and like to leave little clues behind. Unfortunately the authorities never look for connections that thread their way through seemingly-isolated incidents.”