Fury From Hell (28 page)

“My Daughter, your friends did not tell you because I told them not to.  You have harmed four souls.  Two due to the Fury who possessed you, and the others in self-defense; they were going to defile you.”

Jennifer’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the silent room.  Her mind seized and her face burned hotly.  “No…that’s — that’s impossible.  I promised myself I wouldn’t ever again — ”

“Daughter, yes.  The trauma in your past has made you very protective — fiercely so — of yourself.  You would rather die than have yourself used in that way again.”

A tremor ran down Jennifer’s arms as what she heard sunk in.  She slid out of her chair and curled into a fetal position on the floor.  The tears still had not come but her eyes were bright with them as she whispered to the Goddess. “Irregardless of the fact that I am not opposed to kill others to save my own skin…I — killed four men.”

A strangled cry came from the depths of her soul as the reality of her actions hit home.  While half of the killings were done by the Fury, there was no demon to blame for the final two men.  That particular demon was within Jennifer’s own psyche.  The wail from Jennifer became louder and louder as her brain tried to block out the obscene knowledge.  The images of the event burst forth from the scattered depths where the Fury had attempted to bury them.  But the power, love and protection of the Goddess pulled them safely free and paraded them across Jennifer’s mind.  She bore witness for herself, as she watched, mesmerized, the memories of the killing of both thugs were replayed in her mind’s eye.

The thug with the locs was threatening her; he would have raped her and then his friend would probably have joined in, as well.  She blinked rapidly and shuddered.  Her mind raced to the earlier murder that she had no part in — the gruesome nature of the Palmer murder.  The memory of the eating of his entrails made her want to retch up her partially digested morning meal.

Her eyes were wheeling in their sockets as she saw herself awaken in the carnage-filled room.  She watched as she cauterwauled, reeling in the blood-streaked room, confused.  Seeing herself turn around and make a quick exodus to the bathroom where she heard the shower.  The water helped the cop in her to snap hard into place and take over.  Jennifer watched herself come back into the room with the ravaged body on the bed.  Saw herself leave and go to a nearby bodega and making the purchases that had so puzzled her, until now.

She watched as she brisk walked back to the Riviera.  With her stomach pulling in every direction, Jennifer watched herself put on latex gloves and tear open the pack of sponges.  She observed her robotic movements as she cleaned all surfaces with straight bleach to get rid of hers and anybody else’s fingerprints.  She watched, impartially, as she washed the shower and the sink completely and removed all traces of blood.  She saw herself pour the bleach down the drains of both the shower and the sink basin.

Amazed that the Jennifer in the room was so focused, she watched herself gather all of the cleaning products and put them back in the cheap plastic bag.  She saw herself grab the can of Lysol out of the other plastic shopping bag and yank off the cap.  She watched as she pulled off one glove and fished out the lighter from one of the bags.  The memory as Jennifer approached the bed pressing the small white nozzle spraying the Lysol into the blood and excrement fouled air.  With her ungloved hand, she saw herself put the lighter’s flame into the Lysol stream.  In awe, she watched as a wicked looking flame spewed forth licking at the bitten and mangled corpse.  Within a few more sprays, the bed was aflame.  Grabbing the plastic cap and the dropped glove, she saw herself stuff everything back into the plastic bags.  She saw her hasty checking of the fire detector and her quick exodus from the room.

The next images were not as horrific after having witnessed the Palmer murder but it was no less shocking.  The skinny would-be assailant’s murder was paltry in comparison.  While the Fury had bitten into and eaten some of the assailant’s entrails as well the most repulsive thing to Jennifer was the cruelty and stealthy speed of that murder done shortly after she had left Chad Thursday evening.

Squeezing her eyes shut she wished fervently that she could undo the wrongs of the last four days but knew that was an impossible fantasy.  Pulling away from the fully restored memories, Jennifer wondered what this all meant in the grander scheme of things.  She was an atheist, after all.
So now what?  What is this life — my life — all about?  Is it a battle between faith and self-determinism?

Not even sure if that was even a problem that should be added to her list of much more important mundane things, she put the existential issue to the side and tried to wade her way back to the here and now.

“Jennifer — come on, snap out of it.  You’re okay!  We’re here for you no matter what.  Just please, wake up.”

Jennifer left her musings and drifted the full way back and slowly opened her eyes.  The High Priestess stood over her. Betty was kneeling right next to her gently tapping her cheek.  It was her that had spoken last.

Jennifer blinked again and realized that the High Priestess was just herself again.  For some reason, that did not comfort her at all. “Where’s the Goddess?” she whispered.

“She left.  She said to tell you that you are a blessed daughter of hers and you will be taken care of.  You are key.”

“Key?  What does she mean?”  Confused, Jennifer looked back and forth between the women.  They both had odd expressions on their faces.  They almost looked in awe of her but there was something else something far more mundane but she couldn’t put her finger on.  Shrugging this new piece of the puzzle aside, she pressed on. “I know what I’ve done.  The Goddess brought it all back.”

“Go on,” Lady Ariella encouraged.

“The long and short of it is I killed four men — on Thursday night, the night I met Chad a dude tried to attack the Fury.  Dumb move on his part; the Fury had taken over my body totally when he showed up. The other Saturday morning when I left the casino — the one on TV, you know, the blond guy.  And the last two, on my way home after the Palmer murder early Saturday morning.  I used the bullets on Palmer and the last two — so there’s the 3 bullets.  The first murder was done using a weapon he had on him.  A knife, I think.”

The room was filled with a quiet tension as the women peered at Jennifer trying to gauge her emotional state.  Jennifer saw they were not going to answer and remembered the other part.  “She told me she told you not to tell me so don’t worry about it.  I’m not mad at either of you.  If I were you, and a Goddess said not to do something, I’d follow.”

The women seemed a bit relieved but they were still watching her every move.

“How do you feel about the killings?” Betty asked in a soft but firm voice.  Jennifer looked at her friend but then turned to look deep into Lady Ariella’s eyes before answering.

“I’m not so sure I can live with myself.  I’m guessing the Fury picked me because of this checkered past I have and it figured it could push my buttons and get me to do whatever since…I already have a bunch of junk stuffed inside my head.”

She dropped her gaze didn’t bother trying to get up off the floor.  She laid there looking forlorn.  Jennifer felt in that moment as if she’d never get up again.

Lady Ariella saw and drew her lips firmly together and said, “The Goddess says you’re key.  That means you’re blessed.  Which further means we get the bath on you, and you two get to work — now!  It’s 8:15.  Get moving!  Chop, chop!”  The High Priestess clapped her hands. Betty unfolded herself and stood up gracefully holding out a hand to Jennifer.  Jennifer didn’t take it.  Instead she rolled over to face Lady Ariella and just laid there.

“Go get ready, Kamali.  I’ll take care of Jennifer.”

Betty looked at Lady Ariella with a question in her eyes.  The High Priestess nodded and waved her hand dismissing her gently.  With a slight shrug, Betty put back on her slippers and flip-flopped her way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Without kneeling or bending down Lady Ariella spoke to Jennifer in a tone that brooked no argument.  “You will not give up.  You have the Goddess fighting for you and entrapping demons on your behalf.  Yet, you lie there as if the world were coming to an end.  Get up, dust yourself off and make this day your best yet.”

“But the reading predicted death —”

“Not another word!  And don’t repeat that horrific excuse for a divination session to Kamali.  You have been hand chosen by the Goddess.  Get off the floor and
act like it
.”

The fire that glowed from the older woman’s eyes frightened her.  Lady Ariella seemed more like a crazed evangelical minister than a Wiccan High Priestess.  The fervor in her voice and tone infected Jennifer and she slowly sat up.  With wooden legs, she got up and walked over to the stairs and climbed them without a backwards glance.  Jennifer knew she would have to puzzle over and resolve her existential issues at some point in the future but that time would certainly not be today.

***

Monday, November 12
^th
, 8:47 A.M.

“Murphy’s Law.  Never fails,” Betty banged the steering wheel as she blew out an exasperated breath.  They had been caught by every red light from East New York to Downtown Brooklyn.

Jennifer absentmindedly rubbed her neck where a tiny patch of bumps had appeared shortly after emerging from the herbal protection bath.

“Stop messing with it.  It’s just a rash.  You might be sensitive to one of the herbs we used.  That bath is pretty strong.”

With a rueful grin, Jennifer answered tartly. “Most people would stop taking something that’s causing them to break out.”

“Yeah, and most people don’t have demons trying to take them over and make them kill people and…stuff.”  Betty finished lamely when Jennifer pierced her with a warning glare.  Betty had to do something to ease the tension that had been built by her ill conceived attempt at levity.  She fiddled with the radio and found an easy listening station. “Is this good?  Or, do you want you rap stuff?”

Jennifer swung her gaze outwards and watched the veritable parking lot that was Flatbush Avenue.  Sighing, she checked her phone; it was 9:07 A.M.  “We’re going to hear it from Clift,” was Jennifer’s only response.

“Doubt it.  We were up late and if he wanted to reach us he’d have called already.”

“So, why don’t we hit the jewelry stores first?  We can call Clift and Yearwood and let them know when we’re onsite at the first jewelry store.”

Jennifer looked over and snorted when she saw that Betty’s brows were furrowed and her face contorted.  “Yeah, I know Miss By-the-Rules.  You’d rather go in and clock in as mandated in the manual…” Jennifer said with a guffaw.

“I’m not that anal!  But, time is money and we’re behind schedule.  So, yeah.  Let’s go straight.”

Traffic seemed to start moving a bit and Betty slammed her fist against the dashboard when it stopped again. “Okay, that’s it!”  She dug behind her seat and pulled out the portable strobe siren and put it on the Hybrid’s dash.  Betty plugged it in and started honking as the siren blared.

“No way.  Is this really happening?  Two of your precious rules broken on the same morning!”  Jennifer hooted with laughter as cars began to veer in every direction freeing a path for the Acura Hybrid with the grim looking hardcore plain clothes policewoman in the driver’s seat.

***

November 12
^th
, 1:27 P.M.

Jennifer and Betty had just gotten back into the car when Clift called them.

“Feinster where the hell are you and Holden?”

“Just left the seventh jewelry store; no one’s seen the woman.”

He grunted and said in a gruff voice, “Probably should have called you sooner.  The chick is his daughter — Chelsea Rennkler.  When we went to the next of kin it was her who opened the door.”

“Sonofabitch!”

“Sorry ‘bout the late notice, Feinster.  Good news though.  Babs has some foreign hairs on Rennkler and a half of an index fingerprint pulled off that damn cufflink.”  The grim grin was evident in his voice.

“So we’re running them?”

“Yeah, call you as soon as we know something.  Guess you two should come on in.”

Cursing soundly, Betty threw her phone onto the backseat.  Jennifer knew better than to ask and just waited.  Betty cursed again and started the car before saying tersely, “The woman’s Rennkler’s daughter.  We’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“How do they know?”

“When they went to inform next of kin it was her.”

“Damn!  So we’ve got nothing.”

“Babs found some hair and a half of a print off the cufflink.”

“Half a print’s not enough to conclusively prove anything.”

Betty shrugged, “It’s all we’ve got right now,” blowing out a breath to keep from screaming her frustration, she continued.  “Clift said come in.”

“What for?  We’ve got nothing.  We —”

Betty’s phone rang again.  Jennifer dived in the back and answered, putting it on speakerphone.

“Holden.”

“Oh, Holden.  Clift here.  Since Yearwood and I are working this angle with the prints and hair, why don’t you go back to Resorts World?  We were thinking that you had gotten us all of the surveillance discs but we see you didn’t.  What about the parking lots?  The employee entrance?  Other cameras?  We’ve only got the main casino floor entrance discs.”

“On it.”

“Thanks,” he clicked off abruptly.

Without another word, Betty put on her signal made a u-turn and headed towards the BQE to get into Queens as quickly as traffic would allow.

***

Monday , November 12
^th
, 2:03 P.M.

Yearwood was munching on a Cuban sandwich and sipping from a large Styrofoam cup filled with coffee while perusing the obituaries online.  He was in his cubicle hoping no one would bug him about his morbid pastime.  As he scrolled through, one image made him pause.  He squinted at the good-looking blond guy.  He looked…
familiar
.  Yearwood knew he had seen this face before but he couldn’t figure out where.  His brain was still soggy from sleep deprivation.  He clicked through and read more about this particular recently deceased man.  Yearwood read that Derrick Palmer was murdered on Saturday morning; burned to death.  He set the sandwich down and picked up his coffee and slurped two more huge sips.  Concentrating he tried to force where he’d seen this guy before but he was still tired.  He shook his head in disgust and kept flicking through the images of the recently departed.  He knew he’d remember, sooner or later.