Cain's Blood (14 page)

It came with the afternoon list: One of seven more
dead people discovered in the last twenty-four hours.
But so very different from the others . . . familiar. Castillo stepped to the desk, grabbed his phone. Scanned over a hundred

images he’d taken until he found the right one.
M
Carty
“Got you!” The sudden sound of his voice like thunder in the small

room. All morning had been silence: The boy watching the muted TV,
Castillo at his laptop, distracted, the night’s events—the dream—still
fresh in his mind.

“I got you, you son of a bitch.” Castillo pumped his fist at nothing, hurried across the room to the map. happy to leave the brooding
thoughts behind if even for a minute.

“Who?” Jeff sat up some.
“Don’t worry about it,” Castillo replied. “Just more dead people.”
“Oh.”
he felt like a dick the moment he replied, and the kid’s childlike
response only added to the feeling. It was unfair to think of the kid only
as a “monster.” Whatever the boy’s origins, he really needed to think of
Jeff as a scared and abandoned fifteen-year-old.

Have to. Don’t I?
“A couple new names came in. I don’t know. But, it’s someone. And
it’s somehow connected to this. Three new homicides in Delaware. Police found them a couple hours ago. I’ve got about an hour before it hits
cable TV. Two different homes. God damn, I got you guys.” he grabbed
his red pen and marked the map. “husband and wife. A Mr. and Mrs.
Nolan. Shot. Another woman killed in the house across the street. Want
to guess her name?”
“No.”
“McCarty. Nancy McCarty. Chicken girl.”
“M. Carty.”
“Looks like. Want more?”
“No.”
“Seems her teenaged son is missing.
And
the prime suspect.” Castillo grabbed the remote. “yes, yes. Now we’re cooking, kid. Let me see
if it’s on goddamned fox News yet. Shit. Wanna guess his name? The
missing kid?” he put the television on. found the news channels.
“What is it?”
“Al. Albert McCarty. Age fifteen. fuck, yes. Albert fish, maybe. Or
Albert DeSalvo. Both names are in your dad’s notes. Good. Nothing on
TV yet.” he put the set back on mute. “Where was that . . .” Back on his
phone, flipping through the digital pics of Dr. Jacobson’s journals. “Pack
up. We’re leaving for Delaware five minutes ago. M. Carty. you son of a
bitch. McCarty. So . . . so, then what’s with this damn chicken?”
“It’s not a chicken,” Jeff said. “It’s a hen.”
“Chicken. hen. What’s the difference?”
Jeff looked away, retreated, began to pack the book bag Castillo had
bought him.
“forget that shit,” Castillo said as he waved his hand. “you got
something to say, kid, say it.”
Jeff dropped the bag. “you said they got . . . That those three people
got killed in Delaware.”
“So?”

“They’re the Blue hens.”
“What?”
“Blue hens. The university of Delaware sports teams are called the

Blue hens.”
“What the hell is a—”
“It’s the state bird.”
“you’ve gotta be shittin’ me. how do  .  .  .” Castillo stared at his

phone. “Is that all this is? McCarty in Delaware. That’s the big secret
code?”
Jeff shrugged.
“Maybe. So what’re these, then? These birds? This circle? The
squiggle?” Castillo waved Jeff over and pulled up the next image, staring
at the screen.
Jeff slid off the bed. Joined Castillo as he thumbed through the
original images.
“Stop,” Jeff said.

“Ok,” Castillo urged, “so what the hell is that?”
The teen stared. Tilted his head. “Could be . . .”
“What?
Could be
what, damn it?”
Jeff glanced briefly at the Murder Map.
“What? Go ahead . . .” Castillo turned and urged Jeff toward the

Jeff turned his head, studied the map. Stepped toward it, crossing
the room like he was sleepwalking. he ran his finger across the red dots
and half-formed lines. “What’s this?” he pointed to a small cluster of
blue dots.

“Missing persons.” Castillo was up and standing beside him. “A
mother and her two children last seen at a playground in Ohio. Little
park right outside McArthur. Maybe a custody thing, husband. Maybe
something else. Why?”

Jeff turned and looked him in the eye for the first time in three days.
“Because I think I know what the squiggle is.”
“Go. yes. What?”
“A snake.”
“A snake?”
Jeff nodded.
“Why do you think this is a snake? It could be anything.”
“Now we know it’s places. The Blue hens, Delaware. The pictures
are places.”
“Maybe.”
“Then
maybe
it’s a snake. It looks kinda like Serpent Mound.”
“kinda? What the hell is Serpent Mound?”
“Some old Indian burial site built in the shape of a giant snake.
Something my . . . my dad took me to once.”
“Where?” Castillo’s eyes were wide.
Jeff dropped his finger on a spot in southern Ohio. “right here.”
Castillo put his own finger over the missing family in McArthur,
Ohio. A third person could have then drawn a line between their two
fingertips. A straight line and less than a two-hour drive.
“It’s not Al Baum,” Jeff said. “It’s Albaum. Just like McCarty. And the
picture is a hint to the location.”
“yup,” Castillo agreed. “God damn.”
he snatched up his laptop, typed. Some database in Washington
whirled. Spit out names and ages and addresses.
Thank you, Homeland
Security Act.
“There are only two hundred Albaum families in America,”
he reported aloud, still clicking.
“Better than twenty thousand Baums, huh?” Jeff commented.
“hell, yeah,” Castillo answered.
Kid has a quick mind. Smart.
It’d
been the exact same number Castillo’d stated days ago. he further refined his search on Albaum.
“how many Albaum families in Ohio?” Jeff asked.
Castillo turned, smiled. “One,” he said.

he man who finally came into the visiting area didn’t look
like the guy from the pictures, the one with the dopey
eyes and crazy hair. This guy was balding, with a slim gray
mustache. Much older. he wore the same dark blue prison
suits as the other guys. he smiled. Looked kinda nice.

David knew this same man had once murdered six people with a
.44 revolver. Blinded another. Paralyzed an eighteen-year-old girl. for
a year, on and off, he’d simply walked the streets of New york shooting
total strangers.

And SAM, whoever the hell that was, had apparently been quite
fertile.
Because David was
another
son. And cell for cell and genome for genome, the man he’d been made from now sat directly across from him.
Just forty years older. As if it wasn’t a thick acrylic window separating
them, but some kinda freaky mirror.
David knew this because it was in the file Dr. Jacobson had given
him. from the same DSTI files he knew he fought depression and had
some anger issues, but nothing a few meds and maybe a little counseling
couldn’t keep in check. And when the other guys were going nuts that
first night, the night Jacobson finally lost his friggin’ mind and set them
all loose, he’d honestly just kept out of their damn way.
Sure, he’d helped skin Dylan after the kid was dead—
thought
he was
dead, he’d told himself every day after—but that was only so the others would think he was doing
something
. Maybe give him a break. he’d
seen what Ted and Jeff were doing to the other DSTI kids who weren’t
playing the game. So, yeah, he went along with it. But, all in, he was still
cool. he wanted no part in the murder stuff. Or, didn’t think he did.
he’d shaken those other guys as quickly as he could. Was ecstatic when
Jacobson had split the two groups up. even promised he and Dennis
would find all the kids on Jacobson’s list. Others like him. kids born to
kill. Would have promised anything to get away from Ted and henry
and Jeff.
Not that Dennis and Andrei were much better . . .
“I know you?” the man on the other side of the freaky mirror asked.
his voice sounded funny coming through the small vent at the bottom
of the glass. Like a shitty cellphone even though they were sitting a foot
apart.
“Sorta,” David replied.
“Sorta? you look real familiar. What’s your name, kid?”
“David.”
“No kidding. Two peas in a pod, how about that?”
“yup.”
“So who are you, and to what do I owe this visit? They told me you
had some kinda letter to get in or something.”
“um, Dr. Jacobson thought . . .”
“Ah, I see. Good old Gregory Jacobson. haven’t heard from him in
years. you his kid or something?”
“Sorta.”
“Again with the sortas. And he ‘sorta’ set this up?”
“yes. I . . . I needed to talk with you. Gave me that letter to get in.
he said that was Ok and made some phone calls, I guess.”
“you guess. Well, you got about ten minutes, kid. What ya want to
talk about?”

“Do you feel bad about killing those people?”
“you’re one of those beat-around-the-bush kinda guys, huh?”
“Do you?”
The man crossed his hands. he smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile

this time. “every damn day,” he said. “you writing a school report or
something?”
“I’m just . . . trying to figure things out. I have . . .”
“you have what?”
“Strange stuff in my head, you know. kinda confused nowadays.”
“yeah? Is that what this is about? you must be one of those kids he
works with down at that school. yeah, sure. Strange stuff in your head.
I used to talk to the dog, you know. Thought he was possessed by a
demon and he told me to kill people. ‘Strange’ like that?”
“Something like that.”
“really? Shit. Sorry, kid.” The man freed a pair of glasses from his
shirt and fixed them to his nose. “you talk to your parents about this?”
“Mom’s dead. Dad’s . . . well . . .”
“Old man’s a shit, huh?”
“Sorta.” David smiled when he said it.
The man chuckled behind the glass. “you got friends?”
“Not really. They  .  .  .” he thought of Dennis and Andrei sitting
out in the car in the prison parking lot, waiting for him. Andrei, whom
he’d picked up just days before, per Dr. Jacobson’s orders. The one he’d
freed. The one who’d killed that homeless dude last night. kept hitting
him with the hammer even after . . . “They’re kinda bad.”
“I hear you, man. I had the same, growing up. you know. Adopted,
shitty dad, immoral friends, the whole nine yards . . .”
“I know.”
The man studied him for a moment before speaking again. “yeah?
you seem to know a lot. you know Jesus Christ?”
“Not really.”
“No?” The older David leaned forward. “‘
For whosoever shall call
upon the name of the Lord shall be saved
.’ you read the Bible?”
“No.”
“Start. you’re not alone, brother. God’s servants are always facing
the trials of this corrupt world. Jeremiah, John the Baptist, Paul  .  .  .
we each endure tremendous suffering and temptation at the hands of
the great enemy. Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the
world seeking the ruin of souls.”
“Satan.”
“Got lots of names.”
“Cain.”
The man smiled big again. “‘
And God said, What hast thou done,
Cain? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground
.’
Sure . . . but it’s not just murder, kid. All, and I do mean all, have sinned
and come short of the glory of God. We’re born with sin, each of us.
And the price for that sin is death.”
“Death . . .”
“But, David, the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ, our
Lord. We can turn away from sin and choose his greater Light. Always
wish I’d learned this sooner.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Baby, I was once an iniquitous man addicted to pornography, a
devil worshipper who studied Satanism, a slayer of Life who wandered
the streets at night hunting pretty girls to execute. The Son of Sam.”
“And now?”
“Son of hope. ‘
With people this is impossible, but with God all things are
possible
.’ ”
“If you could go back—”
“Can’t.” The man shook his head. “Can’t, can’t, can’t. . . . But I . . .
no. I’d surely find another way.”
“really?”
The man studied him again. Tilted his head as if recognizing something for the first time, but unwilling to accept it. “David . . .”
“yeah?”
“Nothing,” the older man said quietly. “It was nice, ahhh, meeting
you. Good luck.”
“you, too,” David said.