Inside Drops of Crimson
 
 
   
 

In This Issue
 
 
 
 

Just Like Everybody Else
 
 

by J. Lee Moffatt

It was stuffy, the air of the tavern filled with smoke from cheap cigars and the smell of human sweat. Keeping to the shadows I watched the miners, day laborers and sailors have their fill of beer and stew. I could have had a beer or some whiskey to blend in with the crowd, but with my choice of vocation I really never could fit in. I took another sip of my brandy. It wasn’t a bad vintage, but I was thankful that I wasn’t drinking it for the taste or effects.

I needed my wits about me. Nothing was going as I planned. It all should have been clear to me by now. At this rate, I was going to have to start over from scratch again.

I had the evening’s newspaper spread over my table, to read the latest headlines. Several more bodies had washed ashore in Aberdeen, down river from Seattle near the Washington Coast. The sailors had been shot, and their bodies dumped in the water. The police had no idea who the killer was.  I didn’t either. His actions showed a lack of control and certainly a lack of passion. This man killed out of greed or perhaps boredom. He had no higher purpose to his kills.

“Can I get you anything else Father?” One of the girls asked as she came over to my table. Her skin was a rich golden shade that spoke to a mingling of bloods in her family tree not too far back. A small spattering of freckles on her nose was the only sign of any of the Irish in her the rest might have been Indian or possibly even Negro. “It’s horrible about those poor men isn’t it?”

“It is an atrocity. I hope they catch whoever the villain is soon. We must all say a prayer for their souls. Nothing more for me tonight. It’s time for me to go home.” I carefully folded my paper, as another group of men came stomping into Lily’s. The bartender watched them as the waitresses got them settled. His eyes were sharp, and I had no doubt that he missed very little of what went on at his establishment.  A few of the newcomers looked in my direction and nodded a greeting. I recognized them from Sunday Mass, and raised my glass with a nod back.

I left a shiny silver dollar on the bar on my way out. Stepping carefully across the bricks that formed a bridge from the door of the tavern to the street, I gazed down at one of the small windows in the sidewalk that would let light into the Seattle Underground during daylight. It had been three years since the Underground was condemned in 1907. In those depths the true dregs of the city festered like boils.

Opium dens, Shanghai tunnels and brothels had taken over what had been the main streets of Pioneer Square after the city founders raised the street level above them.  The good people of Seattle wanted the Underground filled up with the same muck and debris they’d used on the rest of the Square. But that would never happen. There was money to be made in those never ending shadows, and the denizens knew where to share that wealth to keep the government out of their way.

Rain pounded down on me, soaking though my oil cloth coat like it was made of rice paper before I’d walked a couple of blocks. I liked the feel of it on my face. It kept my mind quick and alert for opportunity. Although I enjoyed the touch of water on my skin, I was none too happy with the chill in my bones. It was going to take a long time by the fire for me to get warm.

It took me more than a few minutes to get enough mud from my boots on the cast iron scraper before I dared to step into my own house. Mrs. Abernathy would never forgive me if I tracked dirt on her immaculate hard wood floors let alone the colorful oriental rugs. After shaking the worst of the water from my coat, I slipped inside, the heat of the fireplace made it feel like I was walking into Hell itself. It was wonderful.

“You’re early tonight, sir,” she said as she came into the foyer to take my coat and wait for me to take off my soaked boots and socks. A hint of the Irish flavored her words. “It’s raining like the Devil’s own tonight.”

“I didn’t really notice that much of a difference from the downpour we were having this afternoon,” I said with a small smile. I traded my boots for a pair of dry slippers and carefully pulled the Post-Intelligencer from the pocket of my coat. “I’m going to read in my study by the fire for awhile Mrs. Abernathy. Why don’t you head to bed? I can take care of myself for the rest of the night.”

“If you’re sure sir?”

“I’m quite sure, and if I remember correctly you have a few new books of your own to read. The postman did bring you the latest Zane Grey didn’t he?”

“As well you know he did since you ordered it for me, sir. But let me at least make you a hot cup of tea. You’ll catch your death if you don’t warm up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your cowboys, Mildred, and I can make a cup of tea on my own. You can tell me all about the book in the morning at breakfast. Have a good night.”

“Don’t forget, Father, the Monsignor is coming to breakfast tomorrow.”

“Is it Tuesday already?” I waited in the foyer as she climbed the steps to the second floor of the house. Most servants’ quarters were in the rear of the house or near the kitchen, but Mrs. Abernathy deserved better than to sleep near the basement with the skittering of the occasional rat and what not.

The kettle was resting on a burner of the stove, already warmed from the pilot light beneath the griddle. I added a cup or so of water and lit a match to the burner to get it going. While I waited for the water to boil, I took a few minutes to wash my face and hands in the kitchen sink.  There was hint of beard coming in, but it could wait until morning. Mrs. Abernathy would not approve of me shaving in her kitchen sink. She’d have been mortified to catch me washing up in it as it was.

 

art by J. Lee Moffatt

A thump from the cellar came as I dried my hands. I left the embroidered tea towel on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and pulled out my key to the door from around my neck, its long black cord tangling in my crucifix as I tugged it out from beneath my shirt. The lock was well greased, as were the hinges, and the steps were sturdy so I made nearly no sound as I entered the depths of the root cellar. Spices, wine and the smell of the rich black earth mingled in the darkness, and I reached overhead until I found the beaded chain to turn on the light.

Harsh light threw the shadows back in the room, reflecting off of the jars of preserves and condiments stored there over the years by Mrs. Abernathy.  Taking up the key again, I slipped between a pair of shelves and slid it into the lock that was blocked from view by a sack of potatoes, and I cautiously pushed the door open allowing the light from the single bulb to cascade into the cell.

At the edge of the pool of light, a pair of fingertips, their nails ragged and bloody, dug into the hard packed dirt floor. If I’d been wearing my boots, I’d have stomped on those fingers to teach the bitch her proper place. In my slippers I had to settle for turning on the light and watching her scramble back like a spider.

 

“Please,” the girl sobbed. “Please no more.” Eyes the color of the cold sea stared at me rimmed in white. Tears had washed trails into the dirt that coated her face. As she sank back into the corner of the room, the chain that bound her ankle slithering after her, a bubble of snot popped under her nose.

I crouched down to her level, my hands hanging loosely over my knees as I picked up the metal bowl her dinner had been in. The bowl was dented and the enamel chipped off the edges from frequently being used as a weapon by one girl or another over the time I’d lived in the house.

“If you continue like this.” I poked at the rust stain in the bottom of the bowl. “I will stop feeding you. Didn’t I give you something special for being a good girl last night?”

“I just want to go home. Please, I won’t tell anyone.”

“No you won’t.” I got back to my feet and walked out into the root cellar leaving the door open behind me. I heard the chain and the sounds of her panting as she made a run for the door. Reaching on top of the rack where Mrs. Abernathy had canned apple sauce and cherries, I pulled out my Bowie knife. A few steps later, and I was standing over her holding her down by standing on her hair. After a week in my basement, I couldn’t tell what color it had been through the filth.

“I could kill you right now. You know that don’t you?” I traced the knife along the back of her neck, watching as her skin twitched and a slender line of blood welled up. “It would be so simple to shove this into your belly and watch you guts spill out like a fish’s. Do you want me to kill you?”

“No! Please,” she whimpered. “I’ll do anything you want. Be anything you want.” 

One of her dirty hands reached for my ankle and slid under the cuff of my trousers to stroke at my leg. Reaching down I hooked the knife under her ear and sliced it off like it was made of nothing but warm butter.

“Touch me again, and I’ll cut off each one of your fingers and make you eat them. Remember, that’s what got you in here to begin with.” Twisting her head up, I looked into her terror filled eyes while the blood ran down the side of her neck to coat her naked breasts.  “Get on your knees and pray little girl. Pray hard, Elizabeth. Make sure God comes to me to grant you mercy. But pray quietly. If I hear another noise from you upstairs, I will send you to hell long before God hears a single word. ”

The tea kettle howled loud enough to block out any sounds that could have escaped from the cellar. Leaving her behind the locked door, I raced upstairs to take the kettle off the fire. I wrapped the ear in the tea towel, and washed the blood from my hands.

 

Outside the rain had cleared, and my garden was cast in blue light from the moon. I slipped out into the backyard and cut my way through the fence into the woods that came up to the back of my property. It was bright enough for me to find my way along the path. I knew it well enough to make it in the pouring rain and pitch dark. Even during the day it was hard for the sun to make it to the ground beneath the thick pine trees.

I heard the sound of an animal snuffling in the shadows, but unless it was a bear or a wolf, I had nothing to worry about. It was probably just some other predator drawn to the scent of the bloody meat that I had tucked up under my arm. 

The cairn wasn’t far from the path. I could see the twisted tree that grew up from the crack in the earth silhouetted against the other shadows. No matter what sort of light came into the clearing, that tree was always seemed to swallow the light. I took the ear from its wrappings and let it drop into the opening in the earth. I didn’t bother to listen for it to hit bottom. I’d never heard anything I’d put into that crevasse strike the bottom.


art  by J. Lee Moffatt
 

###

“The scones are marvelous, Mrs. Abernathy.” Monsignor Hanly dabbed at a smear of marmalade on the edge of his mustache before digging into his scrambled eggs. “You really must come work for me. I’m sure my Beatrice would be perfectly capable of taking care of Father Boudreaux.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving Father Boudreaux, sir.” She glanced at me over the top of his head as she refilled his coffee cup. “He’s the best man I’ve ever worked for. Takes wonderful care of me. Why he gave me the nicest gift just last night.”

“So that’s how you do it, Quinn?” He winked at her, making him look like some besotted teenager. It was distasteful at the least; vulgar at the most. But the flesh of women wasn’t something that drew the Monsignor’s attention. He was as serious about his vows of celibacy as I was. “You bribe her with gifts. I’m sure I can match whatever it was, Mrs. Abernathy, a new dress? A pretty shawl? A new bible?”

“I’m not going to let you take her away from me,” I said with a smile. I hated Tuesday mornings, when Hanly made his weekly visit to discuss church business with me. “I don’t know how I managed without her. Now you said you wanted to speak to me about the school?”

“Yes, yes.” Hanly took off his glasses to polish them with his napkin. “The sisters and I are planning to use some of the spare rooms at St. Rosa’s. It’s going to be quite sometime before the cathedral school buildings are ready I’m afraid.”

“It can’t be easy to build anything with the amount of rain we’ve been having. I’m surprised the corner stones haven’t floated away.”

My front door shook in its frame as someone pounded on it. There was no question that it was far from a friendly knock. Mrs. Abernathy was walking quickly through the foyer as I got up from the table. She glanced back at me before she pulled the door open.

“Can we help you?” Mrs. Abernathy asked.

“I’m here to see Father Boudreaux.” The man in the doorway smelled of fish, and wore a sun bleached fisherman’s hat and pea coat. His face tanned from too much time in the open air. His gray eyes bored into mine. I could feel the anger coming off of him in a wave.

“Mr. Hastings.” I came forward holding my hand out for him to shake. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about my sister, Elizabeth.” he said. He stepped into the foyer but didn’t take my hand right off. It took him a moment before he let me grip it, wrapping the fingers of my free hand around his elbow. I could feel the tension in his in his body as he trembled with anger. “She’s gone missing Father.”

“Your sister? Are you sure she’s gone missing?” I paused while I tried to decide what lie to tell him. Should I ask him if she’d run off with one of the men she’d spread her legs for, or perhaps she’d taken up residence up Starvation Hill.  While I spoke Monsignor Hanly came out of the dining room. “Young women in love are not always careful about their activities.”

“It’s not like that, Father.” He pulled a small journal out of his coat pocket. “I’ve got her diary right here. She’s been gone a week now. When the sheriff came, I found this under her bed. She writes about you on so many of the pages, Father. Says things about you no lady should say. My sister is in love with you, Father Boudreaux.”

Before I could reply, Hanly stepped in. “I certainly hope you’re not accusing Father Boudreaux of any transgressions with your sister, Mr. Hastings.”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just want to find her.” Hastings twisted the journal between his hands, afraid to meet my eyes.

“I sure that Mr. Hastings isn’t accusing me of anything Monsignor,” I said, clapping my hand on Hastings’ shoulder and taking the diary from his hand. I slipped it into my coat pocket, while Hastings looked down at his feet where he’d tracked mud into the house.  “He’s just worried about Elizabeth. I’m afraid that I did see her last week. She came to confession, and well I can’t tell you what she told me of course. All I can tell you is that I told her to go home.”

It had worked for week after week of Confession too, until last week when she decided she wasn’t going to take no for my answer. Not last week when she’d pressed her breasts against the screen to make me look at them. I knew she had feelings for me. She’d made no secret of that, but this had gone beyond puppy dog eyes. The disgusting display would draw too much attention to me, and I did not want that.

I’d told her to come to my house, through the backdoor into the kitchen where I’d grabbed her and put a pillowcase over her head. She wasn’t the first girl I’d had down in the root cellar, but she was the first that had kept a journal that I knew of.

I’d been sure that no one would find out. Her brother was supposed to be on a tramp freighter to Alaska. He wasn’t scheduled to be back in Seattle for at least another month. No one was at the Hastings’ house to notice she was gone. It was a shame that the Aberdeen killer hadn’t put a bullet in him.

“She never came home, Father.” Hastings ran his fingers through his matted hair. “No one has seen her in days.”

“I’m sorry, Benjamin. Monsignor Hanly and I will tell the congregation about her of course. Perhaps she went home with one of her friends. She might have been too lonely to go back to your house while you were gone?”

###

Hastings left in better mood than he’d arrived in, driving off in Hanly’s car to spread the word about Elizabeth’s disappearance. He didn’t notice that I’d taken the diary, and now I was sitting in my study reading the doxy’s love letters to me, page after page in scrawling letters, where she talked about watching me while I performed Mass, peeked at me while I taught my classes at the University. She’d even followed me home on a few occasions, and watched me through the windows while I read in my study.

“She was watching me,” I couldn’t hold back the laugh. I tore the diary into small sections of perfumed paper and tossed them into the fireplace. I waited patiently as each and every page turned to ash in the hearth. “That little bitch was following me.”

“You’re going to have to kill her now.” Abernathy came into the study with a fresh pot of tea for me and a sandwich made of leftover ham from breakfast. “We can’t afford to have Hastings find her here.”

“I know.” I took a long sip of the tea and sank back into my desk chair. “I was hoping to have at least another week with her. I’m sure I was getting close. This is the first time I’ve had someone like her to work on. I was certain that her prayers would be the ones.”

“You’ll find the right one someday.” She leaned over and gave me a soft kiss on the temple. “I know you’re getting close to finding your answers. I have faith in you.”

“Faith…if only I had some, Mildred. If only I had some.” I took my only trophy of Elizabeth Hastings from my pocket, a yard long length of her hair that I’d braided into a thin rope, and put it into a cigar box. There were others in the box, different colors and lengths. Sooner or later I’d mail the hair to a jeweler I knew in Boston and have him make Mrs. Abernathy something pretty.

###

Elizabeth hissed at me like a cat when I came into the room. The blood had crusted onto her shoulder, and her hair was stuck against her face from it. The smell in the room was almost more than I could take. It may have been provenance for her brother to show up now, and force me to start over from scratch.

“Do you know why I became a priest, Elizabeth?” I asked her as I hunkered down across from her well out of reach of her arms and spit. “Have I ever told you that story?”

“No.” She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes were dull when I looked into them, the fight was gone from her now as well as any faith she might have had. Elizabeth Hastings was a broken doll and nothing more. “You did it because you love God?”

“Not quite.” I gazed past her face, into the shadowy corner of the cell. “I became a priest because I wanted to believe in God. I wanted to find out if he existed or not. All the years I went to Sunday Mass with my family, and all the times I went to confession, God never once tried to stop me from killing. It never made sense. If the Commandments say thou shall not kill, why does God let me prosper?”

I got up and paced across the small room, forcing her to back further into the corner to get away from me. Her fear as palatable as her brother’s anger had been. Leaning against the dirt wall with one hand, I let out a deep breath.  “You’re not the first I’ve taken. I’ve tried so many different ways to get God’s attention. I’ve killed altar boys. I’ve killed orphans. I killed other priests, but still God hasn’t tried to stop me. So I decided to try something different when I got here.”

“Girls?”

“I didn’t start with girls like you. First I tried it with the ones who were God’s chosen ones. I brought two novices down into this room, and I gave them pain. I gave them fear, and they prayed for salvation for my soul night after night. And He ignored them. Then I tried the innocent, and the same thing happened. Nothing. So when you threw yourself at me, I thought maybe you would be the key. If Christ listened to Mary Magdalene, then certainly God would hear your prayers. The prayers of one whore shouldn’t be any different from another in the eyes and ears of the Lord.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but you’ve run out of time to make God hear you.” I crouched in front of her with my knife in my hand. “I wanted him to hear you so badly. Every time I cut you. Every time I beat you, I prayed that God would listen to you and make me let you go. But God hasn’t spoken to me. I should have known that He wouldn’t listen to someone like you.”

“I prayed, Father,” she said, her voice small as a kitten’s. “I’ve been praying since you locked me in here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. Your brother came looking for you today. He was right upstairs asking me if I’d seen you.”

“Ben…”

“Yes Ben. I told him that you’d run off with a hunter. He’s probably half way to Portland now looking for you.” I walked slowly towards her, gathering the chain that bound her around my left wrist. I pulled it taught to keep her from running before burying my knife deep into her belly.

“No one is coming to save you. You’re going to die here without absolution. Alone and without God.” Her breath came out in a rush as I gave the knife a twist. Elizabeth screamed as I tore it out of her. Her blood splashed over me in a hot wave. Her guts pouring out at my feet like an overturned barrel of fish. I closed my eyes and licked the blood from my lips.

The girl’s blood covered my hands and arms, soaking through my shirt sleeves up to my elbows. The bone saw I’d used to cut up her body lay in a cooling puddle of crimson on the hard packed floor. My arms hurt from the work of wrapping the pieces of her body into a sheet. While I rested, the blood seeped through the fabric turning it bright red. The blood on my fingers tightening as it dried like a glove that was too small.

“The sun’s down. We can get her out into the woods without being seen.” Mrs. Abernathy came down into the basement carrying a heavy tarp that we would use to remove the remains. “I’ve kept watch, and no one’s coming around. I do think you convinced her brother that the girl ran off.”

 

“I’m nothing if not a convincing liar, Mildred.” I rolled the blood soaked sheet with its grisly contents into the tarp. The ground would eventually take care of the rest before I took another girl to take Elizabeth’s place. I was going to have to be very selective next time.

“You are too good to me.” Mrs. Abernathy smiled when she saw the blue enamel bowl sitting out of the way. Inside was her favorite part, the girl’s pretty gray eyes, waiting to feed the creature that was my partner in murder.  She took the bowl into the main part of the cellar and dropped one of them into a large jar of vinegar to pickle them. The jar sat near some pickled eggs and onions, even if someone looked right at it, I doubted that they’d realize what they were looking at. She popped the other one into her mouth and slurped it down with relish. “I can’t quite imagine Hanly taking care of me like this.”

My laughter echoed through the basement.

We lugged the corpse up to the yard, where I shoved it into a large wheelbarrow. While Mrs. Abernathy led the way out into the dark woods, I pushed the cart along behind her.

We’d first met in these woods when I spilled the blood of my first Seattle victim on the shadow tree. It had poured like a crimson water fall into the rift in the earth, and she had stepped out of the trunk of the tree itself. Her hair fell in inky coils over her shoulders, covering her nakedness. Twin black feathered wings sprouted from her back, wrapping around her like a cloak, and her golden eyes bored into mine. She’d forced me to the ground, her talons leaving a twin set of scars in my chest where they’d cut through my clothing. Then she smelled the meat I’d brought her and all was forgiven.

Abernathy was the name of my now dead housekeeper. Hers was the second body that I shoved into the ground while the creature took on her appearance. It was a partnership made in hell. And I loved it.

I’d given her…her freedom after an eternity of punishment. She helped me in my hunts, and I did love to watch her joy when she read one of her Zane Gray novels.

“Hastings is following us,” I told her beneath my breath as I pushed the wheelbarrow over a deep rut that nearly made it go over. “I saw him before, but I wasn’t sure.”

“I know,” she smiled. “Don’t worry, Quinn. I’ll take care of him.” The mask she wore around other humans faded until only the creature of the trees remained. Abernathy slid into the darkness leaving me on my own to dump Elizabeth’s body.

“Ben Hastings,” I called out into the darkness.

I couldn’t see more than a few shifting shapes between the trees, so little moonlight made it through the canopy of pine needles and the clouds above the tree tops. I knew my part to play. It was time for me to be the prey. A shot rang out, hitting the wheelbarrow. I jumped back, falling onto my back as I tripped over a heavy tree root. Before I could get up, Hastings was on me, his rough skinned fingers wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t help but laugh as he tried to choke the life out of me.

I drove my knife into his stomach. “Feel that? It’s the same knife I used on your sister. You’re too late. She’s gone.”

“Kill you!” He roared in my face, spittle flying as he drove his knee into my groin. The pain made my vision go white.

Abernathy yanked Hastings off of me. I winced as his nails dug into my neck. It was still too dark for me to see clearly what she was doing to him, but I knew the sound of teeth tearing into wet meat well enough to imagine it.  He screamed in rage and fear. Abernathy’s own cries were a cross between a bear protecting her young and ecstasy. She was enjoying the kill. I didn’t need to be able to see it to know she was smiling with her tooth filled maw.

“Thank you,” I told her as Abernathy came to help me to my feet; I coughed and wheezed as I leaned against her human seeming. I could barely smell the forest for the blood. I didn’t need to ask her if Hastings was dead.  Unlike me, Abernathy felt no need to play with her kills. They were food to her and nothing more.

“You’re going to have to much more careful next time, Quinn,” she said as she helped me shove Elizabeth’s body into the earth. “He may have told someone about you.”

“If he did, then we’ll kill them too.” My throat hurt as I swallowed. “I’m not ready to leave Seattle or you, just yet.”

“You are too good to me. Time to go home. I’ll make a nice bath for you.”

“You’re the one who is too good to me,” I said as I let her lead me home.  “And I will be more careful next time. I promise.”

 

About the Author

 

J. Lee Moffat is a full time writer, part time cat herder and freelance web designer with a BA in Journalism.  She lives in San Diego, CA after growing up in San Francisco, Las Vegas and Hawai’i. Her parents raised her on Dark Shadows, Star Trek. the Wild, Wild West, and Stephen King. She has a great love of making the improbable seem real.

She is currently working on her 6th novel, Queen City Blues, set in Seattle during 1910. It is told from the point of view of the bartender in Just Like Everybody Else. J. Lee is the editor of this magazine, a member of the Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror On Line Workshop, moderator of Urban Fantasy Fan, and the webslinger for Morrigan Books.

You can find her on the web at www.jleemoffatt.com.
   
Copyright (c) 2008 Drops of Crimson. All rights reserved.