Ghosts were only a passing thought on Halloween for Police Sgt. Pete Kendrickson, until an infamous criminal mastermind with that alias bombs his church. The Kendricksons return, as does The Charm City Killer, in this warp speed psychological thriller.
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“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”
-Charles Baudelaire – Le Figaro – 1864
–The Usual Suspects – 1995
SPACE
Chapter One
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND 2010
222222In the center of a church, a family of five sang with the melodic drone of organ music. The mother held a sleeping toddler. The father traded glances between the altar and two boisterous elementary aged boys who barely mumbled lyrics.
………..Beneath their pew, a bomb prepared to tear them to shreds.
Somewhere The Ghost smiled.
222222Pete and Kendra Kendrickson danced to David Bowie’s “Suffragette City”. Kendra moved far too aggressively for someone being six months pregnant, her husband thought.
“Easy.” Pete moved closer, slowing their dance. “You’re a ball of energy today.”
“Might as well enjoy it while I have it. I’ll probably want to sleep all day tomorrow.”
The song ended and they both collapsed onto their bed, the new tranquility making Kendra’s eyes heavy almost immediately. Soon she snored calmly, reminding Pete of the quiet hum of an oscillating fan in late spring before those months when the Baltimore heat couldn’t be combated by anything but central air conditioning.
The near silence made Pete’s mind wander. The topic of choice was the same one that had been haunting him for the past several days.
His life constantly had a stabbing source of stress. Not long ago his marriage had been a source- the failed pregnancy attempts, the arguments, the brief separation. As a child the blade was his father. Whether he was over disciplining, or reciting horror stories about his days on the Baltimore streets as a BPD detective, he almost always induced that stress.
Despite his father’s wishes, Pete followed in his footsteps. Along with the scum he dealt with daily came the demotion a few years back. Then there was the stress of tracking down a twisted sociopath the press dubbed the Charm City Killer two years ago. The capture of Ferris Tomlinson and closing of that case was a clear demarcation of Pete’s life, and his stress finally subsided. He regained his position as Sergeant, and more important than anything he regained his love and respect for Kendra. He had lost a bit of that love and respect during their previous marital issues. Then she became pregnant, a joyous miracle that made every problem seem insignificant.
222222Yet that one pain still lingered, and Pete knew it always would, if only in his subconscious most of the time.
222222In his youth, Pete and his best friend Carlos were inseparable. They rode bikes, swam during summers, had sleepovers, and were always together on each other’s birthdays. More than anything they played baseball, Carlos being the far superior athlete. They both had high hopes that he’d make it to the Majors one day.
222222When Pete was twelve Carlos was abducted. Pete witnessed it. He screamed for help and sprinted after the car that took him, but his reaction had been too slow. His screams had been too quiet. Carlos was never seen again. Pete often still smelled the crude oil aroma of those screeching tires.
222222Pete’s destiny was sealed that day. He had to protect.
Thirty years after the event, the pain and guilt seldom surfaced outside the deep realms of his psyche, where dreams and nightmares wrestle for supremacy. It was more of a weight he didn’t know existed that made him walk a little slower after age twelve, a sharpness to his tone and demeanor that had contradicted the softness of his classmates. It was a part of his identity, just as was his average height, auburn hair, and tendency to rebel. Occasionally however, the memory would surface more acutely.
Pete stared at the bedroom wall as if trying to release bolts of lightning from his eyes to knock it down.
“Pete!”
“What?” He snapped out of it.
“I said your name three times. What’s wrong?”
“Noth…”
“And don’t say nothing.” Kendra cut off his dismissal.
“…Just typical work stuff.”
“Glowing” was the prevailing description of a happy pregnant woman. Kendra had it times ten. It was as if her own sun followed her from room to room. Her light eyes were brighter than years prior. Her smile was never-ending, seeming to be anticipating a punch line every moment. She had always been beautiful with eyes larger than most and sharp facial structure that could have landed her on a runway had she not been short. Now with a fuller face and figure, she had never looked more stunning.
“Your lying skills have declined in your old age. What is it?”
He got up and moved the curtains a little to look out the window.
“You’ve been having these moments for a couple weeks now. What’s going on?”
He knew she’d see through a diversion and wouldn’t let it go.
“Carlos. It’s been thirty years as of two weeks ago.”
“Damn,” she sighed, going to him as quickly as her condition would allow. She rubbed his back with a dusting of nails. He began to feel better already. She had that effect on him. Her organic empathy helped make her a great psychiatrist as well as a great wife.
“I know it’s not something you can just let go of at this point. But if part of what you’re feeling is guilt – that you can and should let go of.”
HEADING
222222Kendra married Pete Kendrickson shortly after college. They used to joke about how her new name Kendra Kendrickson sounded like a porn star. Now after having sex twice already in one morning, she felt like one. Something about being six months pregnant created a ravenous sex drive.
Month four of her pregnancy had been about roller coaster emotions. She cried during a rerun of Seinfeld and laughed uncontrollably at the torturously slow pace with which an elderly man drove in front of them. Month five came the bleeding and complications. After two weeks of sleepless nights for her and Pete, her body had finally settled down and her OBGYN confirmed the baby was fine through it all. They knew he or she was going to be a fighter.
The one consistency throughout was her appetite. With the obligation to eat for two she could now, for the first time in her life, indulge with zero guilt. Her body showed it but, other than the growing belly, not too much. She kept up with exercise, so she’d only lost a little of her tone so far. Pete, on the other hand…
“Damn, I love pregnancy.” Pete left the window and the conversation.
Kendra knew that was all Pete could give on the Carlos topic at that moment. The fact that he gave at all was a huge improvement since their brief separation. She was delighted by the baby steps.
“The sex or the food?”
“What do you mean the food? You’re the only one eating for two.”
She glanced down at his belly which had gone from a little paunch to volleyball-size over the recent months.
“I guess I’ve been eating along with you, haven’t I?”
“It’s ok. It gives me an idea of what I’m going to look like at month nine.”
“I’m here to help… Hey, how about some ice cream?”
“Sounds good.”
Kendra had surrendered long ago to the fact that she would not know the inner workings of Pete as she did her patients. Logic told her that perhaps that mystery was healthy for a marriage, as much as she attempted to diagnose at times. It was this inherent drive to discover and cure one’s mind that was her kryptonite in marriage, but the fuel in her profession.
Like Pete, Kendra knew her career destiny at a young age. She watched her father try to drink away what should have been diagnosed as severe depression, and treated with therapy and medication. The bottle killed him when she was sixteen.
Now, as a well respected member of her profession, the wife of a wonderful man, and future mother to a great child, Kendra was truly happy.
Pete’s thoughts of ice cream ended abruptly.
The sound was piercing, and it made Pete instantly think of 9/11. The ground shook. He steadied himself and saw that Kendra also had to fight to keep balance. He went to her and held her tight, one hand on the child within.
“Jesus Christ!” He intended to murmur, but realized a moment later that he had yelled.
Their home seemed intact but what must have been an explosion was close enough to shake their floorboards.
What the hell just happened?
HEADING
Chapter Two
“Are you ok, Kendra?”
She said nothing. A blank expression stared back at him.
“Are you ok, sweety?” He repeated.
Her daze carried her to the bed where she sat carefully. Too carefully, Pete thought.
“Um… I…”
“It’s ok. Just relax. Are you ok?”
She exhaled a long breath.
“I’m ok… We’re ok.” She held her belly with both hands. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. An explosion somewhere. Somewhere close. Are you ok?”
Kendra breathed in deep and then exhaled. Then a realization.
“Go. They’ll need your help.”
Pete kissed her head and then sprinted toward the door, holstered his Glock 22, and grabbed his phone.
“If you feel even a little off, call me.”
“I’m fine. Go do what you have to do.”
Pete sprinted out of the house and jumped into his vehicle. His siren aided journey was a quick one. The explosion was less than four blocks from his home.
When he got out of his car, the visual of smoke billowing into the sky became an intimate intrusion replacing oxygen. His breathing became labored. It was like his face was being forced into the campfires he had experienced as a child. The iron grip that held him there was unyielding, merciless. This smell was not just wood and starter newspapers. There was something foreign burning Pete’s nostrils, something sinister.
He ran closer to the epicenter. The smoke amplified as did the smells.
Then time did not exist, all the clocks in all the world stopping instantaneously. Fifteen maybe twenty people were still alive, some with no visible injuries other than bleeding ears, paced frantically with wide eyes and frozen pale faces. Others tried to ascertain quite logically why they suddenly lacked a limb.
222222It reminded Pete of the event in college when he did a whip-it, an inhalation of nitrous oxide from a whipped cream canister. It was an absolute surrender of consciousness accompanied with a hollow tin echo reverberating within his head. The echo was in the eyes of the victims.
Pete felt slight embarrassment as he removed his shirt to use as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding of a woman whose leg had been decimated. People were dying before his eyes, yet his selfish vanity occupied his brain. He dismissed it, and moved with efficiency from one victim to another, performing CPR, holding the hand of a frightened nearly dead teenage girl.
The tinny reverberating echo finally stopped, replaced by sirens. Soon a flood of first responders assisted his efforts. The next hour seemed like an eternity.
HEADING
Chapter Three
Kendra closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. She had done so without thought or effort all her life, but now breathing was arduous as if her air had been replaced by an unearthly atmosphere. Her whole body felt off and flu-like. Sweats, aching joints, skin that violently tingled. All she could process was the explosion and uncertainty about Pete’s safety. Had a plane flown into the Baltimore skyline only a few miles away? Was Pete consuming toxins that would give him terminal cancer in two years like the heroes of 9/11? Was it a building explosion to be followed up by suicidal terrorists with automatic weapons doubling the death toll? Unable to dance with the unknown any longer, she turned on the TV.
“…The explosion occurred at 9:25 am twenty minutes ago at St. Michael’s Catholic church in North Baltimore. The detonation occurred during Sunday mass.”
It hadn’t been just a church. It was their church. Pete and his family had a long history at St. Michael’s. It was the church he attended as a child, although now he was only a casual bi-annual parishioner attending Christmas and Easter. Kendra went every week and volunteered as a greeter on a regular basis. She thanked God that in recent months she switched from Sunday morning to Saturday evening mass. She dropped on the couch, closed her eyes, and prayed for the friends that might have been in church this morning.
The TV became incoherent, just white noise. She felt nausea accompanied by sudden abdominal pain. She couldn’t see what was happening, but she could feel it and smell it. It was the aroma of milk just beginning to spoil. She was bleeding.
Kendra held her belly, staggered to her cell, and tapped Pete in her Contacts. After five rings it went to voicemail. She touched End and then quickly dialed 911. Busy signal. Obviously, the line was overwhelmed by citizens reporting the blast and its casualties. She hung up, threw the phone into her purse, and left.
Kendra’s fingers shook, trying to place the key in the ignition. If the car didn’t start she didn’t know what she’d do. The engine sounded. Relief. She paused to slow the world and quell some of the panic. Then she started her journey to Greater Baltimore Medical Center.
222222The one consistency in her world now and an hour ago was the sun. It glistened off ponds near million-dollar homes on North Charles St. with their regal columns and tall lean cypress framing three car garages. Manicured lawns with spiral junipers spoke sonnets to the mourning doves soaring above them. She began to feel a little better.
Amidst the affluent calm came a scream, not a human scream. This was a carnal screech that must have come from some prehistoric winged creature. Then what seemed like minutes later, the scream was joined by a sound she’d experienced before, but only from TV and movies at the climax of a car chase. A sudden crashing of an anvil into water. The fast squeak of metal crumbling.
Kendra’s dizziness intensified as she wondered why her car wasn’t moving and why pebbles of glass were on her pants. Then she went black.
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