Power in the Blood

 

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Power in the Blood

“Is the lamb ready for slaughter?”

“Yes ma’am,” the boy said with lowered eyes. His greasy, dirty blond hair falling in his face.

“Good. You done good work, my boy. God will reward your service.”

She put her knottled hand on his shoulder and gently kissed his forehead. Her smile revealed a mouth of long neglected teeth. Her stringy red hair hung limply at her shoulders; it might have been pretty, if it was clean. Her freckled face revealed lines and wrinkles that increased her age by at least ten years. He shuddered at her touch.

“Bring the lamb to the chapel. I will prepare the altar.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“The time is upon us Jesse, we must be ready.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She waited until she heard the wooden screen door slam shut. Then she went to work, gathering up the necessary materials for a sacrifice. There were so many tools needed for this kind of work. Sacrifice was always messy, but necessary in order to have God’s blessing for the coming year. The harvest this year will be the best one yet. She had found the perfect lamb to offer up. She is beautiful, healthy, and clean. Cleanliness is of most importance for a pleasing sacrifice. The last one was unclean and unhealthy. That was why the harvest was not bountiful last year. The sacrificial lamb was not pleasing to God, and the crops suffered for it. But this lamb is perfect! God will be most pleased with her.

She hummed to herself as she bustled around the house. She was giddy with anticipation. There’s pow’r in the blood…There’s pow’r in the blood… She looked at the tools laid out on the rough oak table. Candles, matches, Granddaddy’s harvest knife, bucket, plastic bags, and bleach for cleanup, and most important, the family Bible, it had been in her family for generations and generations. Her entire family history was written down in that Bible-births, deaths, marriages, from the time that her ancestors settled in these mountains. She grabbed the black, tattered Bible and held it tight to her chest. She closed her eyes and thought of Granddaddy, preaching every Sunday in the schoolhouse. Thumping that Bible and preaching of sin and repentance. Granddaddy was a fierce believer and she was proud to be his granddaughter. Although, it was difficult, being the granddaughter of Reverend Ezekiel Thomas. He held such impossible standards. He made her the woman she was today. It was Granddaddy who taught her the importance of the harvest and spring sacrifice, and he passed his knowledge on to her, his eldest grandchild.

Now Ellie, as oldest grandchild, it is your responsibility to teach others of the harvest and spring sacrifices. Without them, we would cease to exist. God has been merciful and has blessed us. But we must repay Him every harvest and every planting season with a sacrifice. We must show Him that we are thankful for His many blessings. It will be up to you, Ellie, to teach the others of the harvest and spring sacrifice and to carry out the ceremony when I am gone. I’m countin’ on you Ellie. Make me proud.

“I won’t disappoint you Granddaddy,” Ellie said, tears running down her cheeks. “I will do you proud.” She pulled herself together. Crying was a sign of weakness and a lack of faith.

“Now, to prepare myself for the ceremony.” She left the tools and instruments on the kitchen table and went upstairs. Granddaddy always prepared a special bath of lavender and rosehips before a ceremony. To cleanse the body and the spirit, he would say. She walked over to the porcelain claw tub and drew the hot water; steam quickly filled the tiny, rustic room. It’s only contents were the claw tub, small sink and toilet. The dingy walls had once been a crisp white, when Grandma was alive, but now they were a dull gray. She added the lavender and rosehips and the soothing scent permeated the room.

Ellie stripped the dirty flowered housecoat and sank into the tub. She took deep breaths, taking in the relaxing scents. Cleanse the mind, cleanse the body. Cleanse the soul, cleanse the body. Cleanse the spirit, cleanse the body. The water was almost too hot, but not quite. Just hot enough to tingle her body all over. Relaxation was taking over. She recited the 23rd psalm. She was ready. The time had come.

Jesse stumbled out the back door towards the red barn. Tears dripping from his cheeks, he angrily wiped them away. Can’t let Mama see me cry. Crying is a sign of weakness and a lack of faith. It was Jesse’s job to bring the lamb to the chapel for the harvest sacrifice. He hated the harvest and planting sacrifices. He knew they were necessary for a plentiful year. He knew they must give thanks to God for His many blessings, but he hated the violence and all the blood. He shuddered, as a chill ran down his spine. He was cold all over, even though the temperature outside was eighty degrees, on this September afternoon. He paused just outside the barn door to pray. Father, give me the strength to do what must be done.

Chelsea Murdock slumped against the pole in the musty, dark barn, her hands tied behind her back, around the pole. Her bare feet were bound at the ankles with rope. She had no idea how long she had been there. She could see cracks of light from the outside, but had lost track of the days some time ago. Her throat was raw sandpaper and produced no sound, from the hours of screaming. She had given up screaming. It did no good. No one was there. No one heard her. No one who could help her anyway. She was weak with hunger and thirst. They brought her scraps, leftovers from dinner, she supposed, and minimal water, not nearly enough. She thought the boy had been sneaking it to her, behind the woman’s back. She hadn’t been beaten or raped, thank God, but she had seen their faces. And that was never a good sign; she had seen enough episodes of Criminal Minds to know that. What did they want with her? What were they planning? That crazy woman kept rambling on about the harvest and sacrificing a lamb. A lamb that was clean and healthy would please God, she had said. But there were no animals in the barn, only her. What did she have to do with their crazy, voodoo animal sacrifice? She was tired of trying to get out of the ropes, tired of screaming, tired of fighting, and tired of laying in her own filth. Her wrists were raw and caked with dried blood. She could barely speak. Whatever they were planning, she knew it was soon. No one was going to find her in time. It’s not fair to have to die this way. No one deserves this. Why me? She thought about the events leading up to this moment. What did I do wrong? Why me?

One week prior, she was leaving her job at the mall in Charleston, where she worked as a sales clerk at Hollister. It was Tuesday, her turn to close. She hated closing, not because of closing the store, but the mall parking garage always creeped her out. Even in daylight, she had never liked it. She remembered as a child, hearing the story on the news, about a pregnant woman who had been beaten to death in a parking garage right there in Charleston, where she worked. She remembered her parents saying what a shocking tragedy it had been. That story always stuck with her, as an adult. She was careful, she thought. She carried pepper spray, at her father’s insistence. When she started taking night classes at Marshall University, her father bought her the pepper spray key chain. She always carried it with her, but it wasn’t enough. It happened too fast - there had been no time to react.

The mall was nearly deserted at 11:00 pm; only a few store closers like herself remained. She pushed open the heavy glass doors that led to the parking garage. She looked for Bob the security guard, but he wasn’t there. Bob usually stood near the garage doors until all of the employees left the mall. He would walk female employees to their cars if they asked. She figured that was what he was doing. She stood there momentarily, wondering if she should wait for Bob, or walk on to her car. Don’t be such a baby. You’re capable of walking to your car by yourself. She tightly gripped her pepper spray key chain and walked toward her car. Her car was parked at the far end of the garage, of course. It was impossible to find a spot near the mall entrance. She looked around for any signs of Bob, but saw no one. The parking lot was deserted except for her and a handful of vehicles. Bob was probably on one of the other floors with an employee. When she finally arrived at her dark blue Camry, she noticed an old VW “hippie” van parked right beside the driver’s side door. There were mostly open spaces, with just a smattering of cars left. But this van was parked right beside her car. Chelsea paused; she had always heard never get in your car if a van was parked beside it. She looked around for Bob, nothing. She peered at the van, it had definitely seen better days, rusted and with patches of bondo all over it. Perfect van for a serial killer, she thought. She did not see anyone inside, however. She stared at the van for several seconds, finally satisfied that it was empty. Probably belongs to another poor college student like me, she thought. She took a deep breath, and walked to the driver’s side door. She put her hand on the door handle and that’s when it happened. The van door slid open and a hand was around her mouth. Before she could react, she was pulled into the van and the door slammed shut. Then a stabbing pain in her head and darkness, nothingness. When she awoke, she was here in the barn, tied to the pole and bound at the ankles.

There were two of them, a woman and a teenage boy. They visited her once a day, when the woman would read from a Bible and ramble on about sacrifices and lambs, telling Chelsea to repent and become clean. The woman scared Chelsea, she was definitely in charge. Her stringy red hair and dirty freckled face made her seem all the more frightening. She looked like she had never seen a dentist in her life, and when she got in Chelsea’s face to preach, Chelsea thought she would pass out. Apparently bathing and teeth brushing was not something these people did. But kidnapping girls was. The boy, on the other hand, was much more passive. During the woman’s sermons, he would sit in the hay with his head lowered, staring at the ground. His dirty blond hair falling forward, he reminded Chelsea of Cousin It. At night, he brought Chelsea scraps of food and water. Never much, but it was something. He refused to make eye contact with her, always stood staring at the floor while she ate. She had tried several times to talk to him, but he wouldn’t talk back, except for the last time, which ended badly. Chelsea thought they were going to kill her right there and then.

Jesse had come in with some pieces of pork and a few lima beans on a plate. Chelsea grabbed the plate and gobbled the food. While she ate, she noticed the boy staring at her.

“Jesse? That is your name isn’t it?” she asked. He nodded. “Thank you for the food.” She tried to smile at him. He looked at her and then quickly looked down at the ground.

“Jesse, when can I go home? My parents are so worried about me. My mom must be crying her eyes out over me. The police are looking for me. I have a little brother, just like you, and he needs me. Just let me go and I promise I won’t tell. I won’t say a word to anybody,” she was crying now, begging for her life.

“M-Mama says you have t-to stay for the ceremony,” he said, still looking at the ground. “You have to repent and be clean.”

“Repent for what?!!!!!!” she screamed. “I didn’t do anything!!!!!! I don’t even know you people!!!"

He looked at her then. His eyes were sad. Chelsea knew he was just as much a prisoner as she was. He may as well be tied up beside her. He would do whatever that woman told him to do.

He rushed to her and put his filthy hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream,” he pleaded, she’ll hear you and we’ll both get in trouble. I’m not supposed to be in here.” Too late.

The barn door slammed open as the woman stormed in.

“Get away from that Jezebel, Jesse!!!! What are you doin’ to my boy?!!!!!” she screamed at Chelsea.

“N-Nothing, we were just talking,” Chelsea stammered. She slapped Chelsea hard across the face.

“LIAR!!!!!” the woman screamed. “You’re trying to trick my boy. You think if you commit unclean acts with him that I’ll let you go. Well it ain’t gonna work. You were chosen special. I picked you ‘cause you was clean and pure. You don’t desecrate yourself with the drugs and drink and ya don’t lie with no strange men. I picked you special, darlin.’” She was inches from Chelsea’s face, with a wicked grin on her face.

“How do you know those things about me?” Chelsea croaked.

“I studied on you darlin’. I studied on you a long time, ‘fore I knowed you was the one. God won’t ‘cept just any old lamb. She has to be clean and pure and healthy. The last one didn’t turn out so good. I didn’t study on her enough. I didn’t know she was sick. The Father don’t like sick ones. That’s why I studied on you real good. And then God told me that you was the one. The perfect lamb for sacrifice.”

Chelsea was crying, “Sacrifice? Lamb? What are you talking about, you crazy bitch?!!!!!” The woman raised her fist and then blackness.

Chelsea was remembering the past events with more clarity. “Oh dear God, no.” Her stomach went cold and she threw up. All this talk of sacrifices, lambs and ceremonies, it finally hit her like a ton of bricks. She was the lamb. They were going to sacrifice her. She looked around the barn, nothing but empty stalls and moldy hay. She was the only living creature in the barn. She was the lamb. She had to get out. She struggled once more to get out of the ropes. She jerked, she wiggled, she rubbed them on the pole, she tried to slide her hands out until she was bleeding again. The ropes wouldn’t give. It’s no use, she thought. They’re going to kill me. She thought of her parents, little brother, and all of her friends. I hope they know how much I love them. She cried for her life.

The barn door swung open. Jesse entered. He carried a shotgun and a brown paper sack. His face was stone. Chelsea knew what he had come to do.

“You got to come with me,” he said. He grabbed her by the hair of the head and freed her from the pole. She was still bound at the ankles.

“Please Jesse! Let me go! Run away with me! We can run away together!! You can be free from her!! I know you don’t want to hurt me!”

He let go of her hair and looked into Chelsea’s eyes for the first time. His face softened. She could tell that he was thinking about it.

“Please Jesse! Run away with me! Leave that crazy old bitch behind!”

“Don’t you talk ‘bout my momma like that!” He slapped her across the face. “Don’t you ever talk bad ‘bout Momma again!” His face was stone again and he gripped the shotgun until his knuckles turned white. Chelsea knew it was no use. He would never let her go. That monstrous hag held him prisoner too. Who knew what terrible things she had done to Jesse over the years? Even though she knew she was about to die, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She sank to the ground and cried.

“Get up. We got to get you ready for the ceremony.” He threw the sack at her. “Here, you got to put this on.”

Chelsea looked in the sack and pulled out a white robe. It looked to her like a choir robe. “What’s this?” she asked.

“You got to wear that for the ceremony. The lamb has to be pure and clean. Put it on.”

“In front of you?”

“Yes. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya. Unless you try to run.” Please don’t try to run. If I have to shoot you ‘fore the ceremony, Momma’ll be real mad. We cain’t use a lamb that’s already been shot. Then we’ll have to find a new lamb real quick. And that ain’t never good. So, please, just do as I say, and nobody’ll get hurt.”

He was inches away from her now; Chelsea could feel his hot breath on her face. He had never been this close to her before. His eyes locked on hers and she squirmed, but did not break eye contact. His face was clean and he smelled like soap. She could tell that he was strong, probably from years of hard farm work. Under other circumstances, she might have considered him handsome. He had green eyes, but they were no longer sad. Today his eyes were hard and glittered like two shiny emeralds. She knew that he would never let her go. Apparently, he had gotten a backbone from somewhere.

“You’re real pretty,” he gently stroked her cheek with his fingers. “Now put this on.” He shoved the robe into her chest. “It’s time to go. Mama won’t like it if we’re late.”

Chelsea put the robe on over her clothes. She knew she was never going to leave this place. She wondered how they were going to do it. She just hoped it didn’t hurt too much.

“Take everything else off,” he said, the shotgun pointed right at her.

“I-I can’t take my pants off with my ankles tied,”she stammered.

He let out a deep breath. “I know, just remember, if you try to run, I WILL shoot you. Sit down.” She sat in the hay and he quickly untied the ropes, with the shotgun balancing across his thighs. Chelsea wondered how many times he had done this before. How many other girls had there been? “Stand up,” he ordered. “Now, take everything else off.” The shotgun was now back in his hands.

Chelsea swallowed hard and wept as the blouse and slacks that she had been wearing for the past week fell onto the hay. She hadn’t had her shoes since she got there, when she awoke in the barn, she had been barefoot. “Everything,” he said. She was sobbing now. His eyes were locked on her and the shotgun was ready. Her bra and panties landed on the hay beneath her. Jesse’s face blushed. He wanted to touch them, to touch her, but he knew he couldn’t. Relations outside of marriage were sinful and Mama would be furious. “You can wash your face at the pump,” he said and pushed her towards the barn door.

She staggered outside. The sun was beginning to set. The orange sky looked as if it was on fire. Her head swam; she felt like she would throw up. She tried to quickly look around to get a sense of her surroundings. She could see a two story farm house with dingy, white peeling paint, the old red barn they had just emerged from, a filthy, fenced chicken coup, and an old shed of some sort. Beyond the shed, she could see a corn field and mountains in the horizon. She must still be close to home if there were mountains.

Jesse shoved the gun into her back. “Over there,” he pointed to the pump by the side of the house, “wash your face. You can’t be dirty for the ceremony.” Slowly Chelsea made her way to the water pump. She pumped the handle a few times and splashed some water on her face. It felt good. She wiped her face with her sleeve. She could feel his eyes penetrating her and she was afraid of what he might do to her before the ceremony. With the gun tucked under his arm he slowly walked toward her. She backed up until she could go no further; her back was against the house. He gently touched her hair, let his fingers slide down her cheek, and onto her breast. This was it, she thought, she had to try one last time.

“I know you want me Jesse,” she said. She put her hand on his, the one that was on her breast. And even though it repulsed her to do so, she leaned into him until she could feel him on her. “Run away with me, Jesse. We can leave now. No one will see. Just you and me. We’ll go far away from here, where she’ll never find us. You can have me if you run away with me, Jesse.” That scared, sad look came back into his eyes. Chelsea could tell that he was contemplating her offer. She didn’t know what she would do if he actually ran away with her, she’d figure that part out later. But she knew if she didn’t escape now, she was dead for certain. Jesse took a step back and dropped his hand, “Mama says relations outside of marriage is sinful.”

“Your mama is crazy as a loon and she’s going to kill me!!!!!” Chelsea screamed. He smacked her hard on the mouth. Chelsea’s head snapped back and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t talk ‘bout my mama like that!” he screamed. Chelsea cowered against the house. This is it, she thought, it’s really over. “Get up and walk.” He pointed his gun towards the dirt road that ran in front of the house. Chelsea stood up and walked. She briefly thought about making a run for it, but where would she go? She had no idea where she was and besides, he would shoot her before she left the yard.

She stumbled around the side of the house to the dirt road. She could feel the barrel of the shotgun in her back. I’m a dead man walking, she thought. This must be what prisoners feel like walking to their execution. Jesse spoke up, “All the way to the end of the road down there, at the bottom of the hill. See that church?” She nodded. “That’s where we’re goin’” He poked her in the back with the gun. “Keep movin.”

The farm was at the top of a hill. They were walking down the hill toward a cluster of small buildings and possibly residences, approximately half a mile away. The road was deserted except for them. She could see the end of the road, where a white building stood with a steeple on top. How many people are in on this, she wondered. Is the whole village going to watch them kill me in church? It’s like “Children of the Corn.”

 

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Chapter 2

Detective Kevin Anderson sat at his desk with his head in his hands. His head was splitting. He needed a drink – hell, he needed a new life. Fifty-sixty hours a week he was submerged in the worst that society had to offer, lowlifes, perverts, murderers… you name it. Then he had to go home to his wife and two boys and pretend that he didn’t see the horrible things that he saw. It was killing him. He couldn’t remember when he last took a vacation. It had gotten to the point that his wife had begun planning them without him. Kim had loaded up the boys and driven to Myrtle Beach without him for the past two years. Sometimes it was just easier that way.

He loved his family, his wife Kim of 15 years and their two boys, Ryan 14 and Trevor 12. He tried to make the ballgames when he wasn’t working. Football, basketball, and baseball – his boys loved sports. If there was a ball involved, the Anderson boys were a part of it. They were good too! Ryan was a football standout and Trevor was a top notch basketball star. Both made honor roll every six weeks. They were good boys and Kevin was proud of them. Then why did he feel like a stranger in his own home? He knew the answer. He was rarely there. This damn job consumed him. Being the best detective on the force, was both a blessing and a curse; Huntington Police Department needed him. He solved cases no one else could. He had a keen eye for details and making connections. And he could get a confession out of a suspect when others had failed. He was the best of the best – and he knew it. Unfortunately, he was a terrible husband and a not-so-great-father – and he knew it. He looked at his watch, 7:00 pm. Another 12 hour day and not a single lead on the missing Marshall student. He was ready to head home, but first he would stop at Davis’ Place for a drink. He needed a drink before facing his wife.

Davis’ was a small watering hole in the center of town, and the gathering place for off duty officers. It was one of those places where everybody knew everybody and their business. Kevin sat down at the polished oak bar. Beth, the owner, asked if he wanted the usual. Kevin replied, “Yes, make it a stiff one.” Beth sat down the Jack and Coke.

“Rough day?”

“Always,” said Kevin and downed the drink. “Gimmee another.” Kevin sipped the second drink slowly, can’t have Huntington’s leading detective getting busted for DUI. He was rehearsing the please-forgive-me speech for his wife, Kim, when a news report on the TV caught his attention.

“It has been three days since Marshall University student, Chelsea Murdock, disappeared. Authorities say Chelsea was last seen at the Hollister store in the Charleston Town Center where she worked. Her car never left the parking garage. Police have no leads and are asking for the public’s help.” A picture of Chelsea was plastered across the screen. “If anyone has any knowledge on the where-abouts of Chelsea Murdock, please contact Huntington or Charleston police as soon as possible! Chelsea needs our help!” The reporter pleaded with her audience. The camera now zoomed in on the female reporter, Cynthia Daniels. Kevin stared at her bright blue eyes. If anyone could pull at audience heartstrings, it was Cindy. She had a way of connecting with viewers, like no other reporter could, too bad it was fake. Kevin should know. He had been having an affair with her for the past six months.

Cynthia Daniels looked into the camera and pleaded with her audience. “If anyone has any information on the where-abouts of Chelsea Murdock, please contact Huntington or Charleston police as soon as possible! Chelsea needs our help!”

“And we’re clear!” Cynthia put down the microphone. “How was I?” she asked Dave, the cameraman. “Perfect, as always,” Dave said smiling. Inside, he felt like throwing up. He hated working with Cynthia. He thought she was a demanding, prissy, little primadonna. He had been known to swap shifts with other cameramen, just to avoid working with her. Cynthia smiled her biggest and fakest smile, “I couldn’t do anything without you, Dave. You’re the one who makes me look so fantastic on the big screen!” She giggled. Dave just looked at her and began putting the gear away in the back of the news van. Cynthia stood there, momentarily. Her charms just did not work with Dave. She could not get him to like her, which was unusual. Most men fawned all over her.

She had learned at an early age that she could get men to do what she wanted. It had begun with her father. She had been daddy’s spoiled little girl. She had been the only child to a single father. Cynthia’s mother had run off with a truck driver when Cynthia was just a toddler. The strain of married life and motherhood had been too much for the 22 year old. In order to alleviate the guilt her father felt, he had given Cynthia everything she ever wanted. He hated the fact that his wife had run out on them and was determined to make up for it. He made up for it in the form of toys, dolls, clothes, etc. Cynthia knew how deeply her father hurt, and only sometimes used it to her advantage. She, herself, really didn’t remember her mother that well, so her absence did not affect her, or so she thought.

As a teenager, Cynthia could get the boys to do her bidding. All she had to do was toss her hair and giggle, and they were putty in her hands. In college, she always preferred male professors to female ones. Female professors had a tendency to be bitchy and would never cut her a break. It was almost as if they were looking for a reason to pick at Cynthia. She rarely got along with any female professors. Come to think of it, she didn’t get along with many females in general. The male professors, like the teenage boys, always fell prey to her charms. During her junior year of college, she had a brief affair with a journalism professor. It was a short-lived affair. His wife had found out and threatened to sue him for everything he was worth. As it turned out, he was worth quite a large sum and thus, ended the relationship with Cynthia. She didn’t like to think that she used men, but rather, she knew how to get what she wanted from them.

But somehow, Dave the cameraman was immune to her feminine wiles. Oh, well, she thought. He’s probably gay. It was a silent ride back to the station. Dave drove with his ear buds in, so he would not have to listen to her incessant babbling, while Cynthia studied her notes about Chelsea Murdock. Such a shame, she thought. I hope they find her. This case could be a career maker for me. Imagine, being the reporter who helped bring Chelsea Murdock home! If I can get the exclusive on this case, that job in DC is sure to be mine!! And I can get out of this piss-ant town forever!!! Oh, Chelsea, you have no idea how important you are to me. Even if they bring a body home, I can still work that angle. If I play it sincere and empathetic, I can get an exclusive from the family. The deeply moved reporter, who sheds a tear on camera – viewers love that stuff!

Cindy’s daydream came to an abrupt halt, when Dave lurched into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. “Jesus, Dave! Are you trying to give me whiplash?” Cindy screeched. Dave gave her a wide grin and hopped out of the van. Cindy grabbed her bag and whisked into the studio without so much as a glance back at Dave. If that’s all I had to do to get that bitch to stop talking to me, I’d have done it a long time ago, Dave chuckled to himself.

Back at her desk, Cindy checked her messages and made a to do list for tomorrow. Now, to get started on my exclusive and I’ve got the best source in town. It’s 7:30, so he should be at Davis’ now. She sat at her desk and touched up her makeup, and gave herself a slight spritz of Chanel No. 5. It was her favorite scent, sophisticated, yet feminine. The scent always conjured up blurred images of her mother. A bottle of Chanel No. 5 was the only thing Cindy’s mother had left behind when she left. Little Cindy had taken it and kept it. She still had the very same bottle to this day. She always bought new bottles to wear. She shook the memories away. Why am I thinking about Mama? She grabbed her Coach bag, and headed out of the studio and to her car. She turned the key in her fire engine red Mustang, and sent a text. If you’re still at Davis’, stay there. I’m on my way. A tiger always on the prowl, Cindy was ready to earn her exclusive.

Kevin’s phone ding-donged. He fished it out of his pants pocket. It was Cindy. She was on her way to Davis’. Shit. I really need to go home. Go home and listen to Kim nag and complain about why I am never home. Go figure. Women. “Beth,” give me another, please. I’m going to need it.”

“Sure thing, Hot Stuff,” Beth said. Kevin grinned. He liked Beth Davis, the owner. She was a middle aged single mother of two grown boys. They worked the bar with her, a genuine family owned and operated business. Kevin liked them all. They were good people. Just then, Cindy sashayed through the door. Every man in the bar turned to watch her walk in. Cindy knew they were staring, and loved every minute of it. She sauntered over to Kevin and sat down next to him at the bar. The male customers went back to their own business. Every cop in the bar knew about Kevin and Cindy, and they were all dripping with jealousy.

“So, Detective Anderson, do you have any leads on the missing girl for your favorite reporter?” She leaned in so close that Kevin could feel her breath in his ear. He suddenly felt warm all over.

“Nothing. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth”, Kevin said.

“Oh,” Cynthia withdrew back into her seat. “Beth, could I get a martini please?”

“Sure,” Beth said with a forced smile. A martini? Who the hell orders a martini? Who does Miss Prissy Pants think she is? A Bond girl?

Cynthia turned back to Kevin, “I’m sure something will turn up soon. And as soon as it does…”

“I know, I know, Cynthia Daniels gets the exclusive.” This time it was Kevin’s turn to lean in close. He got a whiff of her shampoo, fruity and fresh at the same time. It was almost intoxicating. She was sipping her martini. Men are so easy, she thought. She set the drink on the bar and whispered in his ear. “How about an exclusive interview right now, Detective Anderson? She put her hand on his thigh. The warm sensation was coming back. Kevin stared into her deep blue eyes. God, she was beautiful. It was a shame she was such a damn ice princess. Kevin knew that Cindy did not really care about him. She was using their relationship to benefit her career. The fact that she was destroying a marriage in the process, meant nothing to her. By the same token, Kevin didn’t love her either. She was a gorgeous woman, and she wanted him. It felt good to be wanted. He could be himself, with no expectations or stipulations. The sex they had was raw and uninhibited, just two people who wanted each other. Ironically, Cindy was both his stress reliever and stressor at the same time. While they were together, he could forget all of his problems, his job, wife, kids, everything. But when he went home to Kim, he felt like a complete jerk, riddled with guilt.

Kevin downed the rest of his drink. What the hell? I need to let off some steam before I go home. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. Cynthia grabbed her bag and followed him out the door. Out in the parking lot, Kevin pushed her up against her car and kissed her hard on the mouth. She melted into him and felt his hardness against her. Neither one of them cared who might be watching. Kevin broke away first. “See you at your place,” he said.

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Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3 (Sacrifice)

 

            Chelsea staggered down the dirt road, tears flowing from her face.  The thought that she was walking to her death was more than she could bear. She thought she might have a nervous breakdown before they even reached the church.  That would be a blessing, she thought. Then I would be out of it when they killed meI’ve got to try one last time.  If I’m going to die anyway, then what does it matter?  The rocks in the gravel road cut into her feet.  She stumbled and fell.  Jesse nudged her with a tan, leather work boot.  “Get up,” he said.  She rolled over onto her back and gazed into Jesse’s eyes pleadingly, “I can’t.  I can’t go another step. Will you help me, Jesse?”  Jesse sighed.  “Here,” and extended his arm.  With as much strength as she could muster, Chelsea kicked him square in the groin.  Dropping the gun, Jesse doubled over in misery.  Chelsea jumped up and ran three steps, when she felt a vice gripping her ankle and fell face first in the dirt.  Jesse had reached out and grabbed her as she tried to run by.  He was tougher than she thought.  This is it.  He’s going to kill me now, for sure.  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Jesse growled as he got to his feet.  He grabbed the shot gun and put it in her chest.  “Don’t make me hurt you,” he said.  “Now, get up.” 

“Jesse, I’m sorry,” she pleaded.  “Please don’t hurt me.  I don’t want to die.”

“Get up,” Jesse growled again.  “Now look at ya.  Ya got yourself all dirty.  Mama won’t like it if you’re dirty. The lamb has to be clean.” 

Chelsea slowly stumbled to her feet. “But I don’t want to be a lamb,” she sobbed.  “I want to go home to my family.  I don’t want to die!”  She was suddenly overcome with grief.  Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, and her chest was heaving.  She began to hyperventilate.  She was going to die and there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it.  These freaks were going to kill her. 

“Don’t cry,” Jesse said gently.  “It’s an honor to be chosen as the lamb.  The sacrificial lamb is the greatest gift to God.  You should be filled with joy.”   

“Filled with joy??!! Are you crazy?? God doesn’t want you to kill people!” “Jesse, where do you get these ideas?  Where in the Bible does it say that?” Chelsea thought she might be able to finally reason with him.  She knew her Bible.  She had gone to Sunday school since she was little. 

“That’s what Mama says.  She reads the Bible to me every night ‘fore bed.  It’s not killing.  It’s a sacrifice.  Romans 12:1 says, God wants a pleasing sacrifice. It says in view of God’s mercy, offer your body as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God – this is your spiritual act of worship.”

“You’re committing murder!! That’s the worst sin!!!” Chelsea screamed.

“It ain’t murder!  Bible says God wants a sacrifice that is holy and pleasing.  If we don’t sacrifice a lamb at harvest time, God won’t bless us through the winter.  And winter in these mountains is brutal. And if we don’t sacrifice a lamb for spring planting, crops won’t be no good.  We could starve.  The Lord will bless us as long as we offer up a pleasing sacrifice.”

“Thou shalt not kill,” Chelsea whispered.  “You’re breaking one of the Ten Commandments. God doesn’t want that.  I’m not a lamb. I’m a human being!”

“A sacrifice ain’t murder.  It’s an honor.  That’s what I’m trying to tell you.  Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness comes from Jesus Christ!!  Not from killing a lamb!! And certainly not from killing me!!!!  What is wrong with you people??!! 

“I don’t wanna hear no more of your lies!!!!!” Jesse screamed, “Get movin.”  He poked the shotgun in her chest.  His face was stone. It was no use.  She was dead, and she knew it.

Chelsea shuffled slowly down the gravel road with the barrel of Jesse’s shot gun firmly in her back.  The row of buildings was getting closer now, and she could see how run down and deserted the town was.  You couldn’t even call it a town really, not even a stop light, just a gravel road with one row of buildings and a church at the end.  As they walked down the row of buildings, Chelsea noticed how deathly quiet everything was.  She could see no one.  Not a sound to be heard, no voices, birds, nothing. 

Most of the buildings, she could now see were houses in dilapidated condition, crumbling foundations, crooked shutters, and peeling, dingy paint.  But, she got the feeling that the houses were inhabited.  She could see curtains in the windows and junk on the porches: tires, an old couch on one, and some rickety wooden rocking chairs. What kind of people lived here?  Were they watching her?  Did they know what Jesse and his crazy mother were going to do to her?   Were they in on it too?  She briefly thought about screaming for help, for anyone to come and save her.  But Jesse’s shot gun was still planted in her back and he would shoot her on the spot.  The gravels were slicing gashes into her feet, and she stumbled again. 

“Jesse, I can’t walk any more.  Look at my feet,” she gasped.  Jesse gazed down at her bloody feet and looked away quickly.  He hated blood.  “Alright, go in there.”  He nudged her in the back with the shot gun toward the direction of a dingy building with the words Trading Post scrawled on the front.  They went inside. No one was there either.  But there were shelves of home goods and racks of clothes and shoes, all of it used.  It looked to Chelsea like a Goodwill store. 

            “Here, put these on,” Jesse handed her a pair of white men’s socks.  Chelsea was grateful for the socks, but as she was putting them on her feet, it occurred to her that whatever they were planning on doing to her in that church, would probably be ten times worse than cut feet.  That icy feeling was coming back into her stomach and her mouth was watering.  “Go on, now,” Jesse nudged her toward the door. 

In a daze, Chelsea walked outside, the nausea building in the pit of her stomach.  She could see the church clearly now, only a few hundred yards away.  Like everything else in this village, the church peeling dingy, white paint.  The tattered steeple on top of the building stood at an angle.  A crude, hand-painted sign stood in the dirt yard that read, Blood of the Lamb Ministries.  Chelsea read the sign and threw up in the street.  Jesse grabbed her arm and said, “Come on, we’re going to be late.  Mama’s  waitn’ on us.”

Chelsea allowed herself to be led up the steps.  It’s no use in fighting any more.  I’m going to die.  This is really it.  She clutched the cross necklace and prayed quietly.

            The Lord is my light and my salvation-

            Whom shall I fear?

            The Lord is the stronghold of my life-

            Of whom shall I be afraid?

            When evil men advance against me, to devour my flesh,

            When my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall.

            Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

            I will fear no evil, for you are with me,

            Your rod and your staff they comfort me.

 Chelsea gasped when they reached the inside of the church.  Two rows of rough, wooden benches led to the front of the church.  The faded red carpet of the altar was lined with Mason jar candles, giving the room a sinister glow.  In the center was a wooden cross with a ragged drape over it, but it didn’t look right to Chelsea.  Something was weird about the cross.  What was that in the middle of it? Was that a goat skull?   What in the world?? Below the cross, was a large wooden table with straps.  Off to the side, sitting in a ragged, red velvet lined chair, was Jesse’s mother.  She was wearing a long, black robe.  Her eyes were closed tight and she appeared to be praying.  Underneath the chair, Chelsea noticed buckets and plastic sheeting.  It was all too much for her to bear.  The room began to spin, and the nausea came back.  Chelsea turned to look at Jesse, but his face was a blur.  He was saying something to her, but she could not understand.  The room was spinning out of control.  Then darkness. 

 

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            Chelsea could hear voices but could not see anything. Her world was dark. 

            “What’d you let her get so dirty for? I can’t count on you to do anything right!  Now I gotta clean her up ‘fore they all get here!”

            “Sorry Mama.  She fell and got dirty.  Then she got sick.  I tried to keep her clean.”

            “I don’t need no excuses! Go wet this rag at the pump.”

            “Yes, Ma’am.”

Her world was beginning to lighten and take shape.  Chelsea could see blurred shapes and flickering light.  Someone was standing over her with a ring of light around their head.   An angel?  Am I in heaven?  Am I dead?  A dream?  What’s happening?  Warm water on her face.  Someone was wiping her face.  Chelsea tried hard to focus on the face.  A ring of light, red hair?  

“There, there, now. Doesn’t that feel nice?” the face said.  That cracking voice and red hair.  “No! No! No!!!” Chelsea screamed and struggled to get up. She could see now. She could see the church, the altar, the strange cross, and that crazy red-headed bitch.  She couldn’t move.  She was bound to the table.  All of the events of the past week came crashing back to Chelsea like a tidal wave.  “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”  Consumed with a grief and despair she never thought possible, tears flooded her face.  She writhed underneath the straps, even though she knew it was futile. 

“Don’t’ fret now, child.  It will all be over soon, and you will be with our Lord!  You are the greatest gift we can give our Lord.  He will be most pleased with you.  It’s an honor to be the Lamb.”  Her voice was soothing, almost hypnotic.  Chelsea stopped struggling and tried to clear her head.  Her brain was still a little muddled.  She saw Jesse sitting on the front row bench with his head bowed. 

“Jesse, please help me.  I know you don’t want to kill me.  Please! Jesse! Look at me!!!” This was it. If Jesse didn’t save her, she was dead.  Jesse slowly raised his head and stared at Chelsea.  He looked sad.  Then his gaze met his mother’s, and his expression transformed.  When he looked back at Chelsea, she shuddered.  His face was stone, expressionless and hollow, as if Jesse was no longer in there.  He got up and stood over Chelsea.  “It’s ok. Don’t be afraid.  You’re going to see the Lord real soon.” 

Chelsea said nothing and stared at the ceiling.  So this is how my life ends.  At the hands of two crazies.  Twenty years is not enough. There are so many things I wanted to do, places I wanted to see.  I want to get married and have kids and grandkids.  I want to grow old and die peacefully in my sleep, not on a table at the hands of some lunatics!  Staring at the ceiling, she prayed silently.  The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside the still waters, he restores my soul. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me: your rod and your staff they comfort me.  You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.

Chelsea turned her head to look at Jesse.  He was still standing over her.  His mother was moving about on the other side of the room, out of Chelsea’s sight.  A strange peace suddenly washed over her.  All of her life she had been told about the glories of heaven, the streets of gold, the angels singing praises, and worshipping the Father forever.  She was about to experience those wonders for herself, and she was ready.  She was no longer sad about her life.  She was ready to see Jesus.  Father forgive them.   She stared at Jesse and said, “I forgive you, and Jesus will too, if you repent.”  Jesse gazed at her open-mouthed, but said nothing. 

“Forgive us for what?  Mama, what’s she talkin’ ‘bout?” 

Ellie rushed over to Jesse’s side.  “That’s enough! You just hush now, Missy!!  That Jezebel is trying to trick you Jesse! Don’t be fooled by her lies.  The Bible warns of false teachers.  We must be strong in the Lord.  Pray with me son.” 

“Mama, are we doing something wrong? ‘Cause it don’t feel right.  She don’t want to be the lamb.  You told me they want to be the lamb.”

“’Course they do!  They all want to be the lamb in the end.  They all beg at the end…” Ellie’s words trailed off.  She had a strange look in her eyes that chilled Jesse.  He did not like his mother when she got that look in her eye. It was almost as if she were someone else.

“Mama!” Jesse’s words brought Ellie back to the present.  She took his hands and smiled.  “You know what will happen if we don’t sacrifice a lamb.  It says so in the Bible.  Hebrews 9:22 says ‘the law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.’   The Lord is expecting his sacrifice.  We can’t disappoint God, can we?”  Jesse gave a forlorn glance at Chelsea, who had been silent during their conversation.  He looked back at his mother, “No Mama. We can’t disappoint God.  But why do I feel so bad?”

“That’s just the devil trying to get at cha.  He’s crafty, that ‘ole devil.  He’ll use a pretty girl to confuse ya.  But you’re stronger than he is, Jesse.  We must be strong in the Lord and fight Satan.  Now, pray with me son.” She grabbed Jesse’s hands and lowered her head.  “Gracious Lord, thank you for this fine lamb.  We hope this sacrifice will be pleasing to you and an honor to you.  Please help us to be strong in our work, especially Jesse.  He is young and sometimes misguided Father and needs your strength.  Amen.” 

As Ellie prayed, Jesse stared at Chelsea.  She was gazing at the ceiling as if in prayer herself.  He wanted to go to Chelsea and tell her that he was sorry.  Now he wished he had run away with her.  He looked back at his mother.  Her eyes were shut tight.  Jesse had visions of bashing in her skull, grabbing Chelsea and running away.  But it wouldn’t do any good.  They would find him.  They always found the runaways.  And punishment was brutal for the runaways.  “Lord, give me strength,” he said aloud.  Then the doors of the church opened.

Men, women and children were filing down the aisle of the church.  No one spoke a word as they took their seats on the wooden benches.  It was deathly quiet, until Ellie raised her arms and spoke.  “Welcome brothers and sisters!  The time of the harvest sacrifice is upon us!  God has been merciful to us this past year, now it is time to honor Him and give thanks with the sacrificing of the lamb.”  Numerous “Amens” came from the congregation.  Ellie moved to the altar, where a tattered book lay on a rickety podium.  She opened it and said, “Brothers and sisters, let us pray.”  Everyone bowed their head.  “Gracious Lord, thank you for your many blessings on our village of Harvest.  Now, please accept this offering of a lamb as our humble thanks.  We hope you will find it pleasing, for it is with the utmost gratitude that we give it, and please, Gracious Lord, continue to bless our little village.  Amen.”  Again, “Amen” from the congregation.  “Now let us sing a hymn of praise.  Power in the Blood, everyone please rise.”  Ellie raised her hands and began the song.  The entire church sang a cappella:

Would you be free from the burden of sin?   

There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;

Would you o’er evil a victory win?

There’s wonderful pow’r in the blood.

 

There is pow’r, pow’r, wonder-working pow’r

In the blood of the Lamb;

There is pow’r, pow’r, wonder-working pow’r

In the precious blood of the Lamb.

 

Would you be free from your passion and pride?

There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;

Come for cleansing to Calvary’s tide;

There’s wonderful pow’r in the blood.

 

Would you be whiter, much whiter than snow?

There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;

Sin-stains are lost in its life-giving flow;

There’s wonderful pow’r in the blood.

 

Chelsea stared out at the small crowd of solemn faces.  They looked like farmers and hard laborers, plainly dressed in jeans and work pants, and button up shirts.  The women had tight, weathered faces, the kind of tightness that comes from years of hard work.  They wore no make-up and most had their hair pulled up.  Their dresses were plain and knee-length.  Chelsea did not cry for help anymore.  She knew no one in that church would help her.  Even Jesse had finally chosen sides.  He would never go against his mother.

She gazed at the ceiling trying to drown out their singing.  Ironically, Chelsea had sung that very same song in church as well, only now the words took on an entirely new, sinister meaning.  She had been raised in church, baptized at age 11, was active in her youth group, and now as an adult, taught Vacation Bible School every summer.  She let her mind wander to all those services she had attended over the years.  Members testifying, laying hands on the sick, singing hymns of praise and worship, Chelsea smiled to herself as these memories brought some comfort to her.  She, herself, had felt the Holy Spirit move through her church many times.  But there was no Holy Spirit in this church today.  God was not present here.  Quite the opposite.  This was madness.  This was murder.  Chelsea knew that God was not blessing this ritual.  She felt, instead, another presence in the room, something heavy and oppressive.  She looked again, at the odd cross with the goat skull in the middle.  She had never seen a cross with a skull on it before.  What kind of god are they praying to?

The singing stopped and everyone sat down.  Ellie went back to the podium and her tattered book.  Chelsea took a deep breath. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.  This is it.  They’re going to kill me now.  She closed her eyes and asked Jesus to give her strength.

 

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Chapter 6 (Repentance)

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Chapter 8(In the Beginning)

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Chapter 9(Father Forgive Me)

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