D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spinner,” Nick said, tapping the clipboard, “but, if you don’t make a payment by Monday, we’ll have to send a security patrol out here to burn your house to the ground.”

“I thought the bank was going to repossess it..?”

“Standard procedure. We’ll set the place on fire Monday morning, whether you’re in there or not.”

“Look, look,” Aaron said nervously, “Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll find my mom’s copy of the deed? I’m sure we can resolve this peaceably… peacefully… Whichever you prefer.” Aaron led Nick into the living room and motioned for him to have a seat on an overstuffed, high-backed sofa. Aaron excused himself and walked down the hall.

The living room reminded Nick of his grandmother’s house. Everything was floral prints and lace doilies and candy dishes filled with striped mints so old that they were gray with dust. The only thing missing was the antique dollhouse filled with half-empty whisky bottles.

Nick blew on a piece of candy and popped it in his mouth. Walking in a slow circle, he examined the photos and knickknacks spread throughout the room. Several statues of the Virgin Mary were gathered on a shelf like a flock of pigeons. A poster of the crucifixion hung on the wall over the couch. A motion sensor in the poster made the eyes move to follow him around the room. The only evidence that a young man lived in the house was a battered guitar leaning against a wall. “Mom’s a religious nut, but that doesn’t make Aaron a killer. At least, not automatically…”

He peaked down the hall. No sign of Aaron. Stepping through a door, he found himself in the kitchen. Rows of glass-fronted cabinets were filled with floral print china and historical disaster collector’s plates. The collector’s plates looked as if they had never been used, which made sense; it would be hard to enjoy a meal while you looked at the Hindenburg crash.

The next room was a bedroom, obviously Aaron’s mother’s. The closet was filled with denim dresses and gaudy appliqué vests, the kind of clothes usually worn by a children’s librarian, kindergarten teacher, or raving lunatic. A drawer in the bedside table held an autographed Bible, which was probably not authentic.

The bed was covered in emerald green sheets and a thick patchwork quilt. Each patch was embroidered with a different scene from the Bible. Whoever had made the quilt hadn’t followed the stories very closely. A patch in the center showed Moses parting the Hudson River and Noah’s ark running aground.

An old bath towel lay across the bed at an odd angle. Nick pulled a pen from his jacket and used it to lift the corner of the towel. The quilt underneath was stained with blood. A voice from behind him: “Do all bankers search through their customer’s personal belongings?” Aaron stood in the doorway, a thick, manila folder clutched tightly in his hands.

“What happened here?” Nick asked casually.

“It’s red wine.”

“Wine doesn’t turn rusty brown when it dries.”

“Alright, you caught me. It’s blood.” Aaron’s eyes focused on the wall next to Nick, avoiding his gaze. “I slaughtered a lamb. The damn thing bled all over the place.”

“That’s just about the worst lie I’ve ever heard. Who slaughters animals in the bedroom? What the hell do you think the garage is for?” Nick picked up the towel and tossed it aside. “We both know where this blood came from. Why didn’t you replace the sheets? You certainly had enough time to get rid of them.”

“You aren’t with the bank.” He tossed the folder on the floor. “Who do you really work for?”

“Your boss. He noticed you haven’t been at work for a few days, so he sent me here to check on you.”

“It’s his fault!” Aaron howled, suddenly furious. “I told him to let me keep working in the butcher shop! But no, he made me switch to the wait staff. How am I supposed to–?” He gazed up at the ceiling, as if the answer might be written there. “I just need to work in the butcher shop, alright?”

“Aaron,” Nick said calmly, “Did you murder Flockhart? It’s alright if you did. I’m sure you had a good reason.”

“I didn’t kill her!” he insisted, his voice cracking with strain. “Not that I didn’t want to. I didn’t need to kill anyone until Mr. Sweeney forced me to switch positions at work. Everything was alright when I was working in the butcher shop. I could take care of everything then.”

“Why don’t you have a seat so we can talk?” Nick put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and led him into the living room. Aaron took a seat on the couch and Nick sat down across from him on a rocking chair. “Now, take care of what?”

Aaron took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I’m a sinner… I tried different churches – Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Christianarchist – but the guilt never went away. The preacher at the youth center is good, but he can’t help me. I take communion and feel ashamed, like the bread and wine could never make me clean. But then I discovered that God had special instructions for me.” Aaron opened one of the Bibles on the coffee table and handed it to Nick, pointing at an underlined passage.

And Aaron will lay his hands upon the head of the goat and put all the sins of Israel upon its head. The goat shall bear all their sins. And Aaron shall wash his skin with water in the holy place, put on his clothes, and offer the sacrifice. The goat is for the sin offering. Its blood was brought in to make atonement in the holy place. Aaron will carry it forth in the camp and they shall burn its flesh in the fire.

Aaron took back the Bible and closed it, gently stroking the cover with his fingertips. “When I was working in the butcher shop, I could pray and lay my hands on a corpse’s forehead and God would put my sins onto it. It would be cooked and eaten by those rich folks, and they would take my sin into themselves. But Todd fired a couple of waiters and forced me to take their place. So I had to get my own flesh. I showed my mother the passages I found in the Bible, and she agreed that I was doing the right thing. That’s why she…” He gasped, fighting back tears.

“She what, Aaron? What did she do?” Nick’s hand moved automatically for the handle of his laser stunner.

“She volunteered. She sacrificed herself to save me from my sins. My mother was a saint, and I killed her. She was my own personal Jesus Christ.”

“What did you do with the body?”

“I buried her. God help me, I buried her in the floor of the cellar. She’s still down there, and it’s already been three days… I waited three days, just like the Bible says! I don’t understand it!”

Nick left Aaron moaning on the couch. He stepped into the kitchen and contacted a security patrol. They arrived a few minutes later with their DNA testing equipment, a stun net, and a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist recommended that Aaron take a long rest at a high-security mental hospital. “And Aaron,” he said, “When you get out, find a new line of work.”

The security patrol went down to the cellar and exhumed Mrs. Spinner’s body. The arteries in the neck were severed cleanly and there was no evidence of a struggle. Testing showed that the blood on the bed was hers. There was a duffle bag of money in Aaron’s car but, as the vehicle was low on fuel and in a poor state of repair, it did not look like he had been planning to leave town. More importantly, with the psychiatrist’s examination taken into account, Aaron was almost guaranteed to be found mentally ill.

Nick contacted Todd and explained what had happened. “So, it seems that Aaron didn’t kill Flockhart. But you should probably fire him anyway.”

“I would say so!” Todd gasped. “Is there anything else you wanted to…” He paused to yell at someone out of view. “Would you please be quiet? I am trying to transmit!”