Chapter One Preview

PART ONE

SALVATION

&

DAMNATION

“The steel juggernaut raked claws made of screams along the bones of the soul. All of the pain … endured as a child never left the mind. That pain created a primordial ooze in the fractured mind that sloshed and bled until the beast was birthed from the suffering. The beast lived in a cage forged of willpower deep in the recesses of the mad matrix of the splintered mind. It rattled the cage and roared for release but … was loath to ever set the beast loose ... again.”

- Cedric Nye

1

BLOOD AND TEARS TRICKLE THROUGH scorched sockets – down pallid, desolate cheeks – like the Tigris and Euphrates converging towards the Persian Gulf. His limp body lying nearly lifeless against the cold, hard wall.

Midnight – relinquishing the beast back into its cage with a steady hand and arctic focus – delicately places the serrated steel against the edge of the man’s unscathed right eyeball. Then, with precision bluntness, drives the sharp blade with controlled motion dissecting the fascia sheath from around the tiny globe – taking great care to preserve the integrity of the conjunctiva.

Footfalls clatter in the distance. Crackling embers spark the beast’s attention, spinning Midnight’s neck sharply towards the door. Screaming claws hold position against the cage.

Settle down . . . we have waited too long . . .

Approaching footfalls fade as they pass by. The cage door returns to origin.

Focusing attention back on task, Midnight pulls the aqueous sphere from its scarlet soaked socket, then transects the four rectus muscles. Finishing with a bone-chilling snap, the optic nerve is severed, releasing the precious gem from its mortal prison.

Leaving a mess of crimson and salty streams, Midnight revels in the successful extraction of darkness. A beautiful darkness deep as the ocean with amber and golden star-like sprinkles shimmering like electrified goldfish.

Beautiful. Powerful … Revelation.

“Salvation . . . my covenant is almost complete,” Midnight whispers to the violent circle of raw energy. “The Dark Reason of humanity will come to an end … and she will know what it’s like to lose everything.”

Midnight reverently places the coveted reward in a cylinder of formalin, secures the container in a safe place, then turns back to face the one-eyed nightmare lying on the floor.

His final breaths moments away.

With salivating lips, Midnight holds firm the razor-sharp instrument over the man’s shirtless torso, making an incision just below the diaphragm. Clean, precise and with unyielding purpose, the second prize of the evening is revealed.

Grasping the mutilated man’s bloody liver, Midnight’s eyes close, neck raises, and mouth widens as a shiver of lightning invigorates the surrounding protons and electrons. With unbridled lust, edged teeth sink viciously into the mound of fleshy meat, tearing voraciously into a violent past that has been chasing – haunting – since 1888 in Whitechapel, Victorian London where Midnight learned true despair and veritable purpose.

* * *

Lilith walks through the dramatic two-story glass front entrance of the Pinellas County Medical Examiner’s building. Hopeful to reach her first-floor office without incident, Lilith lets out a heartfelt sigh as footsteps closing in from behind inform her, she won’t be so lucky.

“Good morning, Dr. Black-Shadow.” Dr. April Jane Hunt’s high-octane voice jumps off the starting line. “Missed you at the briefing this morning, but no worries, I’ll catch you to speed,” she continues her beat, informing Lilith of a high priority autopsy, a file on her desk, something about the MLI department, LaManche needs to talk to her, Detective Gregorius is on his way in …

“Okay,” Lilith cracks, “I got it.”

“Snappish.” A. J. disguises her voice in a soft, firm tone. “The file is on your desk.” Slightly raising her eyebrows. “I’ll be downstairs preparing the body.”

Feeling a tinge of guilt for her brazen attitude, Lilith leans back in her chair, clicks on the morning news and attempts to lose herself in her mandatory morning cup of steamy liquid bliss.

“Horror and mayhem continue to stalk our beaches as another victim was found brutally murdered last night.”

Lilith’s attention is captured by the familiar background and ominous tone she has come to know all too well.

“The Pinellas County Sheriff’s Department wouldn’t deny or confirm if there is any connection to two previously unidentified murder victims. But tell us investigators are working overtime to determine who these mystery men are, who’s responsible for these heinous crimes, and why. Reporting live from Clearwater Beach, this is Fallon Silcox for Bays News 9.”

“It can’t be,” Lilith mutters as she tightens the grip around her mug. A shiver of morbid familiarity resonates down her spine as she attempts to bring the strong aroma to her wanting, slightly trembling lips. But it is beginning to feel like it did before. The warm comfort fills her mouth yet does nothing for her peace of mind. “I can’t go through that hell, again.”

Smack! The harsh beat on her desk startles her back to reality.

“Go through what hell, again?” Detective M. J. Gregorius asks with the landing of a manilla folder.

“The hell of another bad cup of coffee,” Lilith sidesteps, setting her eyes upon the pending doom in front of her. “What do we have here?”

“Another body washed up on South Clearwater Beach last night. No ID, no fingerprints, burn marks enveloping empty eye sockets, mutilated torso. It’s a goddamn circus act.”

Lilith carefully studies the grotesque images laid out in front of her, her demeanor not revealing any thoughts plaguing her mind.

“That’s three, now, in as many months,” Gregorius continues. “The pattern of violence is escalating with each victim. I can’t tell if he’s losing control or sending us a message or …”

“Until we identify our John Does.” Lilith arches her brow, lifts her eyes. “We can’t be certain of anything.”

“I know. It’s just …” His vigor and determination are strong, fierce like a mountain lion on the hunt for a gazelle at the break of dawn. “If a fourth body washes up and we still don’t have a suspect or motive linking the victims . . .” Relentless in his pursuit. “Our beach is going to be as popular as Amity Island in a Jaws movie.”

“Well, if I find a shark bite on our victim,” Lilith keeps the atmospheric pressure to a light breeze, “I’ll be sure to call in Quint and Hooper to help you find your Great White, detective.”

“I don’t get you,” Gregorius sighs. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” she taunts.

Gregorius holds firm on his question, Lilith’s ability to remain ambivalent continuing to elude him.

“I watch a lot of cartoons.” Lilith’s dangerously sweet smile and fierce will keep her emotions locked deep from public appraisal.

“Can’t you ever be serious?” Gregorius asks, looking for something less sarcastic. Something real.

“What do you see?” Lilith asks, all joking aside.

Thought forms in his eyes: A father. A husband. Someone’s son. Someone’s friend. A man who invited danger into his life or was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I think we can both agree this picture represents more than just what we see at first glance,” Lilith says, keeping in mind that a certain degree of detachment is essential for both of them to do their jobs.

Gregorius nods in agreement.

“Just like you, I try to look deeper,” she attempts to walk that fine line of personal involvement and professional detachment, “look farther than what just the naked eye sees, without compromising my protective shield. We both do our jobs with integrity and honor, and in doing so, the victim’s body can tell us all we need to know about a person’s life. The answers are there waiting to be discovered – how they lived, and how that life came to an end. You have trusted my patience, and my resolve, in the past on how I choose to look and listen. Nothing has changed … You have your way of looking and listening for answers, I have mine.”

Gregorius’s rugged face softens around the hardened edges. His cold inquiring dark eyes sympathetically warm as his sharp, angular cheek bones define an almost perfectly symmetrical face. His skin the color of mahogany wood, which, like who he is, radiates a comforting and home-steady toughness that lets you know he’ll be the beams of support. “You’ll let me know when you find anything.” Somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Don’t I always?”

Turning her attention back on the open file in front of her, Lilith reflects a moment of past regression, the butchered torso triggering a life lived well before the one she lives now. Praying, as she heads downstairs to the locker room to change into her scrubs, the only connection she’s sensing is safely locked away in her caged past.