Love Lost and Found

Chapter 33/?

He still felt slightly dizzy when he awoke again but at least he was able to focuse his gaze now. A faint shadow of fear lingered on in his wide brown eyes, the last remnants of the nightmares that had left him shaking in his dreams. He had dreamt of flying again. And of Sean. Of Sean being somewhere in a dark dirty cellar, doing unspeakable things to someone – to him? The memory of the nightmare lingered on with the persistence of a real memory, demanding to be acknowledged. He curled up into a taut ball, clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to keep the images in his mind at bay. “Sean…” a choked sob rose from his lips as the images became even more vivid, playing steadily in his mind. “Sean… no…” he tried to curl up even tighter, blocking everything out as the sounds around him suddenly changed. He dimly noticed an urgent hammering at the door, heard the door being opened, heard a few soft-spoken words and then… some strange sounds he could not identify. It was some sort of gurgling, probably the sound of someone fighting for breath he thought, but then it was quiet again. Safe for the sound of quick foot-steps, which were getting closer to the room he was resting in. He opened his eyes and gazed nervously at the door. He did not like the fact that Michael was already gone for so long and the uncanny foot-steps and sounds only unsettled him further. His eyes almost bulged out of his sockets as his gaze finally fell onto the bulky figure in the doorway. A dangerous smile played around his visitor’s lips. “Hello. Bret.” MacLachlan said softly.

Ludmilla sat in the car, drumming nervously on the steering-wheel. She was there. The area was just as run-down and shabby as she remembered it but David’s house was even more dilapidated. Bleak, half-collapsed houses stared blindly at the streets. She knew she was at the right place. And yet she was afraid to get out of the car. Afraid to walk over the street and venture into David’s house. And she was even more afraid of what she might find inside. Of what David might have done to Jamie. She smiled as she remembered Jamie’s last birthday. Remembered how his eyes had shone when he had torn open his present and found that damned action-figure from the TV-series he had hero-worshipped back then. Her fingers shook violently as she loaded the gun, trying to swallow the lump in her throat time after time. She had to go in there, no matter what. She only hoped that she would not be to late.

The self-satisfied smile was still plastered to Kyle’s lips as he slowly took off the latex-gloves, which were still spotted with blood. He had managed to destroy a potential shell of the evil one before the on had taken control of it. And Bret had proven to be good sport. Very good sport. He discarded the gloves and left, humming a requiem as he strode away from the scene of his latest crime. It was time. Time to collect the boy and finish the evil one – Orlando – off forever. His humming almost turned into a full-pitched singing as he stepped onto the road. He loved it when things went his way.

“I don’t like this.” Viggo whispered Viggo softly, as though he was afraid of disturbing the quiet that filled the church eerily. “It’s only 9.50! Where’s Orlando? Why isn’t he here?”
“I don’t know.” Goodie sighed, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. “The letter definitely said 10p.m.We are on time.” “Then why isn’t he here? You’ve led us to the wrong church!” Viggo screamed, causing Goodie to jump back and hold up his hands defensively. “Please calm down! This is the only church called St Mary’s. Orlando must be here. He has to! We will find him!” “Oh yes?” snarled Viggo. “And how are we to do that when he’s not here? The church was the only hint we had!”
“Stop yelling at me!” “And why for fuck`s sake should I? This is al you fault!” “Back off!”
Viggo glared at John, who was holding him back now. “No.” Torsten said decisively, stepping between Viggo and Goodie, too- “There’s no sense in blaming each other for what has happened. We’ve got to find him. There must be a trace of him somewhere in this church. We only have to find it.”
“Find what?” a warm quiet voice suddenly said from behind. Viggo, Goodie and the bodyguards turned, angrily glaring at the red-haired man who dared to disturb them. “And who are you?” Viggo growled, shaking John’s hands off.
“I am Frase Brendan.” the vicar replied calmly, pointedly ignoring the Dane’s rudeness. “I could not help but overhear your conversation. You are looking for someone. A young man maybe? Short brown curls? Expressive brown eyes? Tall, yet lithe and well-muscled? Kind of shy with a strange accent?”
“Yes!” four voices answered in unison. “I am Officer Daniel Goodie,” Goodie said, showing his mark as he stepped forward. “Is that young man, Orlando I believe you called him, in trouble then?” “Yes.” Goodie answered and then , sensing the vicar’s reluctance to relay any further information added “though the trouble is not of his own making. Someone else seeks to harm him and we are afraid that Orlando may already be in the hands of that man now.”
“I see.” The vicar said, a sudden smile lighting his face. “In that case I might be able to help. I saw him but 15 minutes ago…”

He sighed, glancing down at the ID-card they had found with the first victim. Michael Douglas. It all looked easy enough. A call from a worried neighbour. A door to a flat that had been opened violently. The first victim lying in the corridor that led to the entrance with his throat slit open. Obviously he had known his murderer, even opened the door for him. The second victim was lying on the bed in a sort of combined living and bedroom. He was naked and there was no ID on him, but he knew the man anyway. Hell, every police man in New Zealand probably did. He had seen his face often enough to identify him at once. Or rather to identify what was left of him. Bret McKenzie was lying spread-eagled on the bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling. A Crime Scene Investigation unit was moving around him, the flashes of their cameras illuminating the expression of absolute horror that twisted the actor’ face into a nightmarish vision. Are you the Officer in charge?” a man, dressed in a white overall and with white plastic slippers over his shoes asked. Sighing he turned to meet the coroner. “Yes, I am. Sergeant Clover.” he introduced himself. “Dr McCoy.” The coroner smiled. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” “What can you tell me about the scene?” Clover asked, shaking his heat to the coroner’s earlier question. “The one over there,” the coroner pointed at the corridor died first. Murdered, both of them. As for this one…” he looked reluctantly at Bret “I believe that he was tortured first.”
“Tortured?” Clover looked at the corpse. It was totally covered with huge bruises that were already turning black. “Yes.” The coroner sighed. “Some of the injuries he has are a few days old, but a lot of them are quite new. See here?” he pointed at the two gashes that ran across Bret’s stomach “these are what finally killed him.” “But the wound on his throat.. and the one over his heart…” Clover stammered. “Not deep enough to be deadly. It almost looks as though the murdered wanted it to look like a cross. But there’s some evidence on him and some oddities about his injuries I can’t figure out on the spot. I’ll tell you more after I have done the full autopsy.” Clover nodded resignedly, cursing once again that he had to be the one to deal with this. This was Goodie’s case, dammit! Officer Goodie and Sergeant MacLachlan, his partner, had failed to report to the station on time. No one knew where they were. And they obviously had switched off their com-units, too. He would have to wait till one of them came back. But meanwhile he would report that they were either failing to do their job or, a thought he absolutely did not like, missed in action. He could not decide what was worse, though.

Tbc…