The Cult (22 page)

She turned around and shuffled out of the depressing room. A deep feeling of despair had settled on her and she felt dreadfully tired, like a large Anaconda had coiled around her soul and was slowly wringing the last ounces of life out of her.

“That’s John Jordan,” she said wearily.

McGill nodded and turned around abruptly. “Come, you want some coffee? I can’t stand the smell of the vile creature.”

McGill looked down, both hands around his cup of coffee, shielding it protectively.
 

Alexa was starting to feel better, the shadow lifting. “You told me you killed him.”

He looked up at Alexa, nodded slowly. “I lied.” He sighed. “I never found him in Guyana, before I could deal with him, he had fled to the States.”

Alexa nodded but said nothing.

“When I came back, I found out he had changed his name and was running another church in New Mexico.”

“So you kidnapped him?”

McGill looked at Alexa with a deeply furrowed brow. “What else was I supposed to do? He’s sick, Captain. He murdered hundreds of people, but couldn’t drink his own Kool-Aid.”

Alexa stood up and walked to the window. The sun was shimmering in the sky, and the house cast long shadows over McGill’s green lawn. “You cannot keep him down there for ever, you know?”

“You don’t understand, Captain.”

She spun around, strode to the bishop. “You’re damn right, I
don’t
understand, Bishop. No one should live like…that.”

McGill stood up and took Alexa’s hands in his, squeezed. “You cannot tell me that you didn’t feel it too?”

She looked up into his eyes. “What?”

“The evil flowing from every pore of his body, the pure depravity of the man, Alexa. I cannot allow that thing out in the streets, not ever again.”

Alexa pursed her lips but said nothing.

“God would never forgive me for killing someone. So I’m doing the next best thing, I’m isolating him from the world. Keeping the world safe from that monster.”

Alexa studied the man’s face. “I cannot allow this to…“

“Please, Captain. Do you want to let this man out into society? Just think what his next move would be? He’s a sick, deranged man.”

“So you’re acting as his judge and jury?”

“It’s the only thing I can do, Alexa. I need to protect the innocent people out there by keeping this evil monster in my own home where I can keep an eye on him.”

Alexa pursed her lips, then squeezed his hand. “Okay, I’m leaving. We’ll keep this between ourselves.”

McGill swallowed. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, his voice cracking.

She sighed. She hoped she was doing the right thing. She turned around and waved as she exited his home.

“Captain,” McGill called behind her.

She turned around.

“Thank you for everything, Captain.”

She nodded and strode to the church to see how the others were doing.

Joe’s Diner

Alexa smiled a thanks as Maggie refilled her cup. She took a sip of coffee and glanced at McGill. “You okay?”

He looked up at her, smiled uncertainly as he nodded. “Guess so. And you?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Sure?”

“Dandy.”

Neil cast her a questioning glance but she ignored it. “Any news on Inspector Ortell?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. We found his body in a hotel room in Salt Lake City.”

Alexa frowned. “What happened?”

“Burnt to death, same way as Di Mardi and Lamont and eighteen other bodies we found at the Illumenex temples and commune.”

“I assume they had the same cause of death as our two Grand Masters,” Neil said, stirring his coffee.

Bruce leaned back in his chair. “Yes, all the higher ranking disciples were given those chains. “

“How can a gold chain kill you?” McGill asked, scratching his jaw.

“It’s plated gold, made from Thermite, a highly combustible compound. It contained a small receiver that could be remotely activated,” Bruce answered.

Alexa shook her head. “Eighteen people dead?”

Bruce lifted his shoulders an inch. “I’m afraid so. Guess they were serious when they said they were going to take their disciples with them.” He turned to Laiveaux. “What does the Vatican have to say about Casanellas?”

Laiveaux lifted an eyebrow. “Same old. The Pope denies any knowledge of the man’s activities, said he had never been ordered to kill any priests.”

Neil snorted. “Every organization has their bad apples, I guess.”

Alexa drained her mug. “Well, I guess that about wraps up our investigation here.” She looked at McGill, took his hand. “You going to be okay?”

He nodded, smiled. “Yes, we have about a dozen men and woman left, we’re trying to locate their parents.”

“What about Jeremy?”

McGill beamed happily. “I’m pleased to report that the foster board has approved my application to adopt him.”

Jeremy looked up from his soda and smiled. “I’m going to become a priest one day, just like Bishop McGill.”

McGill ruffled the boy’s hair. “That’s good to know.”

Alexa became somber. “You going to tell him about the skeleton in your closet?”

He nodded. “When the time is right, Alexa.”

Alexa slapped the table with her palms, stood up. “You phone me first, okay?”

Neil took her hand as they walked outside. “What was that stuff about skeletons in his closet?”

She turned her head, flicked a strand of hair behind an ear, shrugged. “You know, what happened in Guiana. We all have skeletons, Neil. Stuff we need to deal with as best as we could at that specific time in our lives.”

Neil nodded. “Know what you mean.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “And what skeletons do you have in your closet, Miss Guerra?”

She laughed. “More than you’ll ever know, dear Superintendent. More than you’ll ever know.”

Neil glanced back over his shoulder. The Bishop was standing at the entrance of the diner holding both of Laiveaux’s hands in his own, shaking them. He looked at Neil and Alexa and smiled, a curt nod of his head. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Alexa looked back as well and waved at McGill. “I honestly hope so, Neil. I truly do.”

Let’s Talk!

I’ve been rushing to finalize Book 6 of the Fatal Series starring Captain Alexa Guerra, and it’s almost done.

There is a caveat, though. And it is this.

I have kinda reached a crossroads in my writing career, I’ve been doing this on and off for close to twenty years, and it’s tough. Look, I’ll be the first person to tell you that writing is like a drug to me, a story mulls around in my head and I have to get it down on paper for the characters to stop harassing me. I’ll never stop.

But.

Writing is a lonesome occupation. So I’m going to ask you, my reader, a
huge
favor.

Please get in touch with me. Write me at
[email protected]
and tell me what you think, what you enjoyed and where you reckon I should improve. Hey, I’m no Stephen King or Thomas Mann for that matter, but I do think I spin an interesting yarn and if you would like to continue on this journey with me, please let me know.

And if you have a moment to spare, please leave a review for this episode or any of the other episodes you may have read.
 

It would be
greatly
appreciated.
 

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Hope to hear from you Guerrians soon!

Arno Joubert

Author of the FATAL Series

Acknowledgments

Writing a novel is lonely, challenging, intimidating, monotonous work. But also extremely self-fulfilling and gratifying, especially when a reader comments on your expert knowledge on a particular subject area.

When a novelist starts his career, he or she often makes mistakes and they subsequently get one star reviews for the work that they’ve poured their heart and soul into perfecting.

Why?

Because, as a writer, we are stupid, or too lazy to do some proper research. You see, we make things up for a living, so who would care that army troops cannot parachute from a B-52 bomber? But people do care. To suspend disbelief and truly submerge yourself in a story, it has to be as close to reality as possible.
 

As a writer, you need to get your facts straight.

Luckily there are some gifted readers and confidantes who gently point out our mistakes and indiscretions, reminding me that I cannot simply hit someone’s septum into his brain, and that it is disrespectful to toss bags of donated blood on the ground.

Without these specialists who have painstakingly taken their valuable time to pore over my tomes, the work would have been so much weaker, and I cannot thank them enough.
 

So here is a shoutout to all the people who have helped me during the past year:

Doctor Rob Gentz for your medical expertise, useful comments and observations and just your humorous way of pointing out my mistakes. Man, I should have paid more attention in those anatomy classes. Also, thanks for being a pal! Next beer’s on me, man.

To Colonel Kenneth Gerchman, thanks for all the advice on how to blow various things up, explaining to me which is the weapon of choice in CQB’s (Close Quarter Battles) and thank you as well for pointing out that the term “Ex-Marine” is a misnomer. I get it, the men worked hard to earn the title; they will always stay Marines. I salute you, sir.

Laura Kingsley, my Content Editor. Your brilliant mind and sharp wit inspires me to be so much more than I can be. They day you said that, ‘there's a good book lurking in the mess’, I felt so proud that you didn’t simply say that I should stop writing this blathering rubbish. Thank you for your observations and guidance, and soon, another piece of hogwash will make its way to your inbox to be ripped open and torn apart and cajoled into some coherent tome that I will be proud to display to the world. But, all jokes aside. Honestly, thanks. I couldn’t have started this journey without your expert guidance and advice. You’re the best, and don’t stop chastising me, I’ll get there in the end.

Amy Maddox, copy editor extraordinaire, perfectionist and all-round fantastic human being. If I had a penny for every mistake you have picked up, and another for every time I asked “Now how did I miss that?” I would have been a gazillionaire by now. You put so much effort into polishing my work, whatever I pay you is not enough. Thank you so much for all your help and God Speed to a truly nice person.

Finally, thanks to my enduring and loving wife, Deidre’. Dinner’s on me tonight, I promise.