Faustus Resurrectus (3 page)

“Come on! Come on!”

The giant loomed behind them, eclipsing the fluorescent light with impossibly broad shoulders. Donovan scrambled to his feet and shoved Pommeru up the corridor. “Run!”

They made it out the swinging doors, and Pommeru kept going. Just outside the door was a fire axe. Donovan smashed the glass and snatched it free. He gripped the axe in both hands, waiting to defend himself.

The giant didn’t follow them out.

Donovan remained standing guard, but as seconds ticked by, he felt less and less threatened. After two minutes he crept to the swinging door. What he could see through the tiny window looked normal. A few blocks away, a siren approached. Feeling a bit more confident, he nudged the door open with his shoulder and slipped inside. Still nothing. He worked his way back. The freezer door stood wide open, but no one living was inside. The gurney remained where the giant had knocked it aside, dented and crimped. The body lay in a heap, the arrow in the eye socket propping the head up at an odd angle.

The giant was gone.

***

Donovan sat alone at the table in the medical examiner observation room, where grieving relatives can view remains behind glass. He was drinking a can of soda, thinking about mutilated bodies, when a sharply dressed man a few years older than him entered. The man was clean-shaven with razor-cut hair. His intensity projected a force field ahead of him.

“Maurice said you have a ‘unique approach to problem solving.’” He looked Donovan over. When he spoke it was neither accusatory nor challenging, but leaving no doubt who had to prove himself to whom. “I hear you can take care of yourself, too. Nice to know you’re working for me.”

“You’re Sergeant Fullam?”

“You’re Donovan Graham.” Fullam sat at the table with Donovan. “Maurice called me yesterday, said you could give me the information I needed. I didn’t expect
this
, but okay. I understand following your gut. In the future, though, save that ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission’ bullshit for your professors, okay? You want to do something like this, you call me first.”

“No problem.”

“What have you got?”

“I don’t think this was a one-in-a-million accident, and I don’t think you think so either.”

Fullam took out a notepad and pen. “Whatever I think, I won’t open my mouth until I have facts. I asked about scorpions. Tell me about scorpions.”

“That’s my point—it’s not just scorpions or a guy missing his balls. The body with the arrow in its eye was missing its legs, or, more accurately, its thighs. In Western astrology, each sign of the zodiac has a corresponding body part: Scorpio is the genitals, Sagittarius is the thighs.”

“You think people are being murdered according to the zodiac?”

“I think that describes the two bodies you have.”

Fullam looked at him for a moment. “You came up with this after seeing the bodies for five minutes?”

Donovan didn’t back down. “Not saying I’m right, but it fits.”

“And the missing body parts?”

“Sounds like a ritual.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sacrifice and ritual killing are like murder and serial killing; one is an end to itself, one has a larger purpose. Anton LaVey said, ‘A sacrifice is used to
sus
tain, a ritual to
at
tain.’ You track a sacrifice by figuring out to whom it’s made. Ritual killings, you figure out what the ritual is designed to do.”

Fullam made some notes. “Any thoughts on that?”

Donovan shrugged. “Sorry. No idea.”

“Doctor Pommeru says that when the body with the arrow was brought in a few days ago, it had all its parts. After you left, he went to work in the freezer and saw the giant in there, cutting the thighs off. Says it wasn’t for you, he’d be dead.”

Donovan considered this. “I’ve never saved anybody’s life before.”

“Welcome to the club.” Fullam snapped his notepad closed and stood. “‘Ritualistic zodiac murders’; it’s an interesting theory. I’ll give it some thought. Quick question, though—how did you figure out his balls were taken and not eaten? I specifically asked Doctor Pommeru not to give you that information.”

“If the scorpions had really eaten them, the wound probably would have been more ragged. The knife strokes in the wound could have been from the autopsy, but the scorpion-genital connection is basic astrology.” Donovan stood. “Can I go?”

The sergeant nodded. “Unless you want to help clean up downstairs.”

***

“Frank Fullam?” Joann asked.

“Do you know him?”

She sipped some orange juice. “Only by reputation.”

Even with the delay at the morgue they’d made it to the bed and breakfast outside of New Paltz the previous evening. After an energetic celebration of Donovan’s graduation, they’d awoken to a private breakfast in their room.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“He’s got a little history. A bit of a reputation as a loose cannon.”

“Really? He came across as the opposite to me. Very buttoned-down.”

“Not always, from what I’ve heard.” She held her juice glass between her palms. “He used to work Vice in Brooklyn. He had trouble with the old boys’ network and got transferred to Manhattan because of it. He got a promotion, but he has to be
very
careful now. There are people who wouldn’t mind seeing him gone. In fact, that’s probably why he asked Father Carroll for help instead of NYPD Intelligence. Outside the politics.”

“I
thought
that was a little odd. The NYPD has at least a half-dozen ‘cult cops’ versed in the paranormal. I met one in class one time. Fullam could have gone to them.”

“But he didn’t. He asked you.” She toasted him. “And now he has a lead.”

“And I have a sore back.” He winced, then smiled. “Giants and zodiac murders; pretty weird start to a career.”

“A career?”

“I don’t want to tend bar my whole life. Helping the cops could open some doors.”

“Those doors are a little more dangerous than teaching.” She shook her head. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt badly enough to miss any shifts at the restaurant.”

Donovan only half-heard her as he tried to remember every detail. “He wasn’t a really skilled fighter, but I guess with his size he doesn’t need to be. He was
huge
. I don’t know how he got away, but the cops figure he escaped into the sewer outside the autopsy room. I’m sure the alligators will give him a wide berth.” She laughed, and he felt absurdly pleased with himself. “By the way; speaking of weird things, I’m sorry I didn’t ask. Was there anything on the camera DeFelice found at the Dinkins Shelter?”

Her eyes lit. “There was, actually. Each of the cameras had a back-up disc, digital images that stayed for forty-eight hours before they were recorded over. We’re still cleaning up what we found, but we may have a picture of Charming Man.”

“‘Charming Man’; hah. Charming up until the point he got everyone to start killing each other. What a waste of talent,” Donovan said. “I try to use mine only in the service of good.”

“It’s worked on me so far.”

He gazed into her face. His heart pounded.
Propose now!
Instead, he took her hand and stood. “Want to test it again?”

THREE

SOMETHING FAR MORE SINISTER

O
n Tuesday Donovan returned to work at Polaris. Polaris was on the east side of midtown Manhattan, an upper-end restaurant with a clientele of cougars and people used to getting what they wanted. He liked tending bar there, but over the next few days he found himself distracted from mixing North Star cocktails and cosmos by thoughts of his future.

A ring, a site, a way to propose…

He took care of the first concern with a visit to Lars, a jeweler friend of Father Carroll’s who also read runestones. They designed a ring that Lars promised to get to work on right away. As for a site, he figured he and Joann would pick one together. One thing he
did
know was who he’d ask to officiate the ceremony. On his next afternoon off, Donovan rode the Vulcan to East 4
^th
Street, off Avenue C., to ask him.

***

Cinnamon-scented steam wafted from the imported coffee shop next to the building. Donovan pressed the door buzzer for Father Carroll’s apartment. The answer came after several moments.

“
Yes?
”

“Welcome back, Father. Have you got a minute?”

“
Donovan? Of course, come up.
”

Donovan took the stairs two at a time and found the priest waiting for him on the third floor. He offered a hearty handshake and a clap on the shoulder. “
Dia duit
!”

“‘
Djiah gwich
’?”

“‘Good day.’ I picked up a bit of Gaelic while I was visiting Father Driscoll.”

“Really?” Donovan followed him inside. “What should I say in response?”

“‘
Dia is Muire duit
.’”

“‘
Dijahs murrah gwich
.’ How was England? How does Stonehenge look?”

“It’s interesting, what’s visible to the public, anyway.” Father Carroll led him to his study. Although his apartment had high ceilings, he had to duck through the doorways. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Soda or water is fine, thanks.”

He motioned Donovan to another room. “I’ll be right in.”

Father Carroll’s study was similar to his office, but with relics and books that were much more significant. On one wall he’d mounted his Crest of Thagaste, denoting his status as one of a dozen clergymen in Christianity holding an Augustine Dictate. The Augustine Dictate authorized him to investigate the paranormal in ways not normally condoned by church bodies. Around the study, Donovan noted books open as they had been at the office. This time, however, the priest wasn’t researching scorpions.

“Apparently,” Father Carroll entered carrying two bottles of water, “the English Heritage group wasted a lot of time trying to ‘naturalize’ Salisbury Plain, making Stonehenge look as it did thousands of years ago. It was dying a slow bureaucratic death until this man, Lord Teesdale, took it over. Whatever his plans are, the only thing anyone knows is what they see, which is the entire plain draped in gray material. The site looks like something by Christo.” He sat behind the desk, and Donovan took the opposite armchair. “But I’m told you had an interesting holiday as well. Francis called me.” He offered Donovan one bottle and opened the other. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. A little bruised is all.” He waved off the concern. “We can talk about that in a minute, if you want, but that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to tell you—well, I’m going to ask Joann to marry me.”

“You are?” A broad smile split the priest’s gray beard. “Donovan, that’s
wonderful
. Congratulations. She’s a lovely young woman.”

“Thanks. If—
when
—she accepts, I was hoping you’d officiate at the ceremony?”

Father Carroll’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses. “I would be honored, sir.”

“Thank you.” Donovan smiled, relieved to check off another item on the list. “I haven’t figured out how to ask yet, but I’ll keep you updated.”

“What do your parents think? Have you told them?”

“No, I figured Joann and I could take the trip down to D.C. and tell them together. I thought about asking Conrad for her hand, but I have a pretty good idea what his answer would be.” Donovan paused. “Actually,
you’re
the first person I’ve told.”

“Well
.
” Now the priest beamed. “I will certainly do my best to make the most of this happy event. Cheers and blessings.” He raised his bottle, and they drank a toast.

“Lars is making the ring even as we speak. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

“I’m sure it will sparkle like the stars.”

Having shared his news, Donovan felt an idiot grin rise on his face. He looked at the books around them. Images of constellations and zodiac symbols faced up from most pages. “I guess I hit on something with the ‘zodiac murders’ thing. Did Sergeant Fullam ask for more help?”

“He did.”

“You’ve helped him out before.” Donovan raised his eyebrows. “That’s kind of interesting.”

“He told me you uncovered this astrological connection between the two bodies at the morgue.” The priest sipped his water. “My best pupil.”

“I made it when I thought about scorpions and arrows. The missing organs clinched it.” Donovan gestured at the books. “Have you been building on my guess?”

“For the moment, I’m at a loss. Astrological rituals are primarily concerned with fortunetelling. Some make reference to animal sacrifice, but human mutilation? Particular to zodiac signs? I have no idea.”

“Joann and I are having dinner tonight, but I can give you a hand for a bit.” Donovan surveyed the room. “Where should I start?”

“You had success the way you handled researching scorpions. Perhaps we ought follow that blueprint.”

Donovan chuckled. “Blueprint? Not exactly. I studied stuff for hours before I got the bright idea to check out the body.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” the priest said. “Your consciousness had to become preoccupied for your subconscious to be inspired.”

“So…God wants us to study fine print until our eyes cross before He’ll help?”

“The time you feel was wasted enabled the Universe to unfold as it did, allowing you not only to save a man’s life, but to gain valuable information for our cause.”

“I was lucky. I know how to throw a punch. Nothing supernatural about that.”

“Perhaps.” Father Carroll sounded amused. “But you were faced with choices and you made the ones that produced those results. Either your instincts—free will—are the best I’ve ever seen, or there was a guiding hand behind your actions.”

“Predestination.”

“I believe it was a combination of the two. Free will allows us to make those choices, and if we choose as you did, we allow God to shape the world through our actions.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then the world, as the unfortunate Mister Denschler and others discovered,” the priest gestured at the books, “can be shaped by something far more sinister.”

***

The bar on Pearl Street was crowded with brokers and traders who hadn’t yet gone to catch their trains. Cornelius Valdes looked up from the vodka he’d been nursing and into the mirror behind the multicolored bottles. Joe Lopter was still there, against the wall, glad-handing other well-dressed men as he’d probably been doing for the last fifteen years.