When Saint Goes Marching In (31 page)

Stanley
’s legs began to shake under Saint’s weight. “Ahhh!” he screamed hard in pain.

“You feel that, Stanley? That’s how it felt when you put your hands around that young lady’s throat back in Missouri. How about this?”

Stanley
screamed out louder. Saint pushed Stanley’s fingers against his chest, keeping him pressed close to him as he forced him to endure the same physical pain he had administered onto all of his victims.

“That is how it felt when you raped her! This is how it felt when you stabbed him in the back! This is how it felt when you rammed a wine bottle inside her! This is how it felt when you set him on fire!”

Saint opened his mouth wide, allowing a flame to shoot out and bathe Stanley’s face in intense heat. Stanley screamed at the top of his lungs and barely missed receiving third degree burns as he twisted and turned, trying to free himself in vain.

I need to relocate, she doesn’t need to see what is about to happen.

 Saint got up and dragged Stanley with him out of the room. Before he turned out the door, he turned quickly around to Mona, who was cradling her husband and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Mona, look at me.” Saint’s deep voice echoed and sounded as if it were combined with other voices over a loud speaker. She turned desperate eyes to him. “Whatever you do, don’t come out of this room. Stay in here with your husband. Do you hear me?”

Mona nodded and Saint took Stanley up the hall towards the front door. All the way, Stanley clawed and kicked – but that didn’t do a thing to free him from Saint’s hold.

“Ah! Please!” Stanley screamed. “What are you? What are you doing?” he yelled louder.

“I’m only doing to you what you did to them, Stanley. It’s the code. It’s what has to be done. What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Saint reached the living room, raised Stanley up by his armpits and placed him on a metal plant hook that hung from the Kane’s living room ceiling. “Remember this? This was the crime that was never tied to you. Remember that pretty twenty-two year old? Your first murder? You hung her. You’d take her down from the noose, rape her, hang her back up, over and over and over again until finally she couldn’t take any more and died. Carla left you, Stanley, because you’re a
fuck up
.”

Stanley
shook uncontrollably. His body spasmed, forcing him to contort in strange, unnatural ways.

 “She got several restraining orders against your ass, you scared the shit out of her and you loved every minute of it. That is why she sent you that email and left without telling you. What about that prostitute you tried to kill, but she ran to the police and told? That was in Florida, right? You’re not a man. Men don’t rape women, punk asses do, insecure little fuckers like
you
,” Saint sneered. He removed Stanley from the hook and slammed him onto the ground.

“For our final act, Stanley, I don’t have much time so I need to make this pretty fast, but you’ll get the gist of it.” Saint rubbed his hands together and smiled a mirthless smile before grabbing Stanley’s hand and pressing it harshly against his chest. Saint pushed his palm against Stanley’s heart.

“I want you to remember something that you seemed to have forgotten.”

Saint pushed his palm so hard into Stanley’s chest that the man seemed to lose his breath. He started to shake again and cry uncontrollably.

“Here,” Saint said, his eyes locked into Stanley’s. “That’s your mother. She locked you in your room for three days with no food or water because you pissed the bed again.”

He pressed a bit harder. “Oh, what do we have here? It’s your stepfather slapping you around and showing favoritism towards the kids he had with your mom. I bet that really hurt, Stanley,” Saint mocked as he gripped his throat again.

“I don’t give a shit about your fucked up childhood. We all have stories we could tell, Stanley. That didn’t give you the right to do what you’ve done and what disgusts me most about you is that you’re lying here feeling sorry for yourself instead of being worried about all the pain you’ve caused the family and friends of the people you’ve knocked off. Before I go, I want to leave you with the sentiment of your last victims. You broke into their home and killed that young couple. They were dating and enjoying a movie. Juelle, that is the guy you were jealous of, he was really into her, so much so, he wanted her to meet his Chinese mother. The girl you killed, her name was Raquelle. Everyone thought it was so cute how their names sounded similar. Juelle wanted her to be his wife. He was going to propose to her in a couple of months on her birthday. He had the ring and everything, and you ruined it all.” Saint dragged Stanley by his throat into the laundry room, where he pinned him down to the ground.

 “You couldn’t get wood that night, so at least she escaped your disgusting routine of sexual abuse but you got mad at her, blaming her for that, and made her drink her own piss while you made him suck down bleach. So, this Clorox delight is on me. It is a beverage after all, since you made it so. Cheers!”

“No!”

Saint looked down at Stanley and made sure the man watched as Saint’s irises changed from orange to blood red, the whites to black, then red. Stanley writhed, screamed, begged, and gasped for air as his heart beat out of his chest.

Saint uncapped the bottle, keeping his knee secure in the middle of Stanley’s chest, then pried Stanley’s pursed lips open. The sound of the toxic liquid going into Stanley’s mouth, burning his mouth and tongue, echoed throughout the small laundry room. Stanley tried to spit some out. He coughed, rolling his eyes around from the excruciating pain.

“Taste good, huh? Now your insides are fresh and clean, Stanley. You should be thanking me for making you pure again, your soul is so fuckin’ dirty and disgusting. You stink too, stinkin’ ass, rotten, soulless mothafucka. I could barely breathe around your funky ass.”

Saint slowly opened his mouth and the entire room went up in flames. The extreme heat did not touch either of their bodies, but he knew Stanley could feel it; it was so close, the hairs on the man’s arms began to singe. Sweat trickled down Stanley’s face and neck and soaked his shirt. The hot flames danced around, almost human in their violence, daring to come closer and consume him whole.

“This is Hell, Stanley,” Saint laughed, his white teeth gleaming against the reflection of the flames. “Some people think it’s some fairytale spun by Grimm and the Bible – that Hell isn’t really like this. Some people think there is no such thing as the Devil.” Saint laughed harder and zoomed down closer to Stanley. “Of course, there is Hell. There has to be a prison for mothafuckas like you, Stanley! God doesn’t create imperfect designs. You can’t make Heaven and not Hell, that would be injudicious!”

Three tall shadowy figures appeared on each side of Saint. As they came forward, Stanley screamed in horror as he took notice of their grizzly, large skulls with empty dark eye sockets. They were draped in black cloaks, their mouths dancing with flames. They zeroed in on Stanley, saliva now dripping from their mouths, their bared teeth sharp, unevenly jagged and lethal. They floated toward him, closer and closer, as Saint kept him pinned to the floor.

“Aw, how sad. Are you scared yet?”

The figures bore down on Stanley, hovered inches above his face.

“These three right here, they’ll be your roommates. Friendly mothafuckas, aren’t they?”

Hot saliva dropped onto Stanley’s face and neck from their gaping mouths.

“No, no Stanley. You don’t get any harps or clouds or kisses from angels. You get these three right here and a host of other friends who will spend their time tormenting you until God shuts everything down. You see, one of the cool things about me is that I get to toggle both worlds. I can see Hell and I can see Heaven. These demons can’t touch me – if I ask them to reveal themselves, they have to, and they are hungry for you. This is one of the privileges of being the love child of two angels. They kissed and touched me. One was the angel of death, the other, the angel of mercy and life, and people like me, Stanley, get to walk around and try to right wrongs all damn day. So that is why I haven’t shot your brains out, like I wanted to. I first have to do all of this. It’s tiresome, I tell you that much, but hey, someone’s got to do it, right?” Saint grinned.

Stanley
shook violently and closed his eyes, as if that would make the nightmare go away.

Saint turned serious and snapped his fingers. The three demons crawled back into the recesses of the room, finally disappearing as the smoke from the just extinguished fire hung around with the smell of burnt flesh.

Suddenly a scream rang out – it was Mona. Saint looked down at Stanley who was now barely clinging to life. He quickly tied Stanley’s arm to the door with a long, black winter scarf that was hanging nearby and raced back into the bedroom. Sergeant Kane’s body was convulsing, his blue eyes lifeless. Saint fell to his knees and gently pushed Mona out of the way. Mona sobbed loudly and stared down at her bloody hands.

He grabbed Sergeant Kane’s hand, placed it on his chest and held it there while he took his other hand and pressed it hard on the dying man’s chest.

Kane moaned. Saint let go of his hand, gingerly hoisted him up careful not to hit the knife sticking out of him, and carried him over to the bed to lay him flat down on his back. Kneeling over him, he looked at the knife closely from various angles then put his hand back on Kane’s chest.

“Sorry, Mike. This is going to hurt,” Saint warned as he swallowed hard, gripped the handle of the knife and slowly pulled it out of Kane’s bruised and bleeding flesh. Kane shrieked, his scream resounding throughout the house while Mona sat on the floor, shivering and weeping hysterically.

Saint sat Sergeant Kane back up and held him against his chest. He slid his hand in between them, sandwiching it so that his fingers were right over the man’s heart. Saint slowly rocked back and forth, eyes closed, while he felt Kane’s blood stream over his fingers and chest like a slow geyser.

Kane’s heart started to beat more regularly as Saint’s cool, soothing energy flowed through his damaged chest and lungs. The wound was healing fast. Saint went to a place deep inside himself that no one else could ever see, and focused on healing. The room got eerily quiet, the temperature rose and serenity settled around them, like warm sunbeams of light dancing across the walls and windows.

Mona screamed out, shattering the peace. Saint opened his eyes to see that Stanley had entered the room. He leaned against the wall, bracing himself, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth slick with spit. He held a kitchen knife in his hand. The black scarf hung loosely from his wrist and blood ran down from his busted bottom lip. With clumsy steps, he advanced on Saint. Saint’s trance had dulled his reflexes. The healing process had drained him; he could barely move.

The sound of shattered glass diverted everyone’s attention to the window. Mona screamed, got up and ran to the corner of the room, her eyes wild with fear.

In a matter of seconds, Ted had jumped into the room, grabbed Stanley and slammed him down onto the floor. Saint’s hands never left Kane’s body.

Ted fell down upon Stanley and punched him hard in the face and chest. Stanley fell limp like a puppet doll under the force of Ted’s fist.

Finally, Saint’s alertness slowly returned and he turned to look at Kane. The wound was almost completely healed. Kane rubbed his bloodied shirt in disbelief.

“I remember you. You must be an angel.”

Mona stood up, her eyes the size of saucers as she heard her husband speak. She ran to him and held him.

Saint let him go as Mona embraced him.

Ted had pummeled Stanley to near death, his fists unyielding like concrete. Looking exhausted, Ted stood up and turned his attention to Saint.

“Ted, watch out!” Saint cried.

Before Ted could move, Stanley reached up and stabbed him deep in the calf. Ted bucked under the pain but before Stanley could do more damage, Saint shot to Ted and moved his hulking body out of the murderer’s reach. In a smooth move, Saint snatched Stanley by the hair and viciously dragged him back up the hall.