Wrath White - The Resurrectionist

“The man she identified as her attacker was Dale McCarthy. We never arrested him. That’s why his prints weren’t in the system. We didn’t have enough to go on and her story didn’t make any sense. So we closed the case. We figured she was just crazy. Then when she dumped kerosene all over herself and lit a match, we just figured that that confirmed it. Then I heard about your case from Detective Lassiter. I saw the tape and I heard your neighbor’s name. I put two and two together.”

“Do you still have the tape? In evidence somewhere? Can I hear it?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. He did…more to her than he did to you. It was pretty violent. On the tape, it sounded like he was tearing her apart.”

“I want to meet her.”

“She’s in really bad shape. That all happened six years ago. She’s been in the Nevada Mental Health Institute ever since.”

“How is he doing it? How is he able to kill people and bring them back to life?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Maybe he’s like a faith healer.”

“But they’re all fake. They’re all scammers. There’s no such thing as a real healer.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

“No, but that Amazing Randi guy has been debunking faith healers and mystics for a couple decades and I’ve never even heard of a faith healer bringing someone back from the dead. And isn’t the deal that you’re supposed to be really pious and have strong faith in order to be able to heal the sick and wounded? Like a monk or a minister or something? It’s supposed to be like a gift from God, right? Are you trying to say that this perverted fuck is some kind of saint?”

The detective waved him off.

“Jesus did it.”

“That piece of shit ain’t Jesus!” Josh roared. There was still pain in his voice. His eyes were fierce and wounded. Sarah could tell he was just barely holding it together.

“No. He’s definitely not Jesus but maybe he’s able to tap into the same type of energy. Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe he’s tapping directly into the life force, the force of creation. We assume that that force is intelligent and moral and good. But what if it isn’t? What if it’s random and chaotic and mindless and somehow your neighbor has found a way to harness its energy? What if the same power that allowed Jesus to raise Lazarus from the dead is allowing Dale to resurrect his victims so he can rape and murder them over and over again?”

Josh shook his head and stood up from the couch. He took a few steps away from the couch and then shook his head again with his back to Detective Malcovich.

“No, Detective. I can’t see God giving a power like that to a sex murderer.”

“I didn’t say anything about God. I said the life force, the force of creation.”

Josh turned around and looked at the detective.

“So, are you saying there’s no God, Detective? Just some creative force? What are you, one of those New Age hippies?”

Sarah watched her husband swell up. Religion was a topic she tried to stay away from around Josh. He didn’t go to church every week, not since everything that had happened to him as a child, and she wasn’t sure he’d ever actually read the Bible, but he believed and was more than a little defensive about it. The mere mention of Richard Dawkins would send him off on a tirade. Sarah was a bit more open-minded. She didn’t know if God existed and would never say this to Josh but she thought anyone who claimed to know was deluding themselves. She was hoping the grizzled old detective wasn’t one of those militant atheists. She had a premonition of Josh tossing him out on his rear.

The detective chuckled but didn’t smile. The expression was devoid of mirth.

“Did I tell you I was a vice detective? Twenty years on the force looking at the worst of human nature. Evil and atrocities you could not even imagine. Every day I saw rapists, child molesters, drug dealers, addicts, prostitutes, pornographers, and sex slaves and more than my share of murders and assaults. So, if you’re asking me if I question whether whatever force runs this universe has any morality remotely resembling man’s, then that answer would be yes. I question it. I doubt it. I disbelieve. If you’re asking me if I doubt if an intelligent hand is guiding it all, unless that intelligent hand is even more sick and twisted than the criminals I’ve been locking up for the past two decades, then I doubt it. I doubt it very much. I can’t look at someone like Dale, who can do the things he can do. I can’t look at some rich fuck who can molest his kids or murder his wife or sell drugs to teenagers or kidnap young girls and force them into prostitution and get away with it because he can afford the best lawyers, and believe in some omnibenevolent all-powerful father figure up there watching over us. I can buy a mindless force.”

“But you believe us about Dale?” Josh asked.

“I do. I believe you. And so does Trina.”

“Trina?”

“Detective Lassiter.”

“But not Torres, huh?” Sarah asked. “He ain’t buyin’ none of this, is he?”

“Torres is a bit of a skeptic. Even more so than me. At least he is when it comes to everything but God. He’s a Catholic.”

Sarah stood up and paced the floor.

“So how can you help us any more than she can, Harry? I mean, no offense, but so far the police department hasn’t done shit for us.”

“I’m going to help you catch him in the act. I’ll set up a stakeout right here in your house.”

“Is this another one of those off-the-record deals? That’s how Lassiter got in trouble and all the evidence she and Detective Torres gathered got thrown out and rendered inadmissible.”

Harry smiled sardonically, almost sneering, and for the first time, for just a moment, Sarah thought he looked more like a gunfighter than a hippie.

“Yeah, well I won’t be trying to gather evidence. I’m going to catch him sneaking in here and I’m going to put a bullet right between his beady little eyes.”

Hearing him say it made Sarah aware of how transparent the plan was. It was the obvious thing, which meant that Dale would probably be expecting it. But what else could they do? The other part of the plan that bothered her was that it sounded like premeditated murder. It wasn’t much different than walking across the street and putting a bullet in Dale’s skull right now. She only hoped that a prosecutor would see the difference.

“That’s the same plan we had. But shouldn’t you be trying to arrest him, Harry? Why would you risk your badge doing something like this? I know it’s your job, but officially there’s no case. You could just walk away and let us try to catch him ourselves. Why are you here volunteering to give up your time and risk your career?”

Detective Harry Malcovich reached into his sports coat and pulled out his wallet, a tattered brown leather thing with receipts and business cards spilling out of it and bursting its seams. He pulled out a wrinkled photograph and held it up so Sarah and her husband could see it. It was a picture of a beautiful young brunette in her twenties with big smoldering eyes, long thick eyelashes, and full lips just like Sarah’s.

“I owe it to Dorothy Madigan…for not believing her. If I had stopped him, if I had just believed her, if I hadn’t just dismissed the whole case, she might not have tried to kill herself. If I had stopped him then, he might not have attacked you.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you. Just tell us what we need to do.”

Detective Harry Malcovich was on the phone with Trina Lassiter, trying to patiently explain what he was doing at the Lincolns’ home.