Since you're almost at 12 reviews for the Illegal Fantasies book, I thought I'd toss you a bone. (read that as tease.)
LOL
Here you go....
© Copyright 2015 by Morgan Kelley LLC All
rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy,
recording, or in an information storage or retrieval system without written
consent from the author. All characters are fictional and any similarity to
real life or individuals is coincidental.
~Prologue~
Killing definitely wasn’t for the faint at heart.
It takes a special kind of person to take another’s life. The
entire process is a bloody mess and often makes you wonder about your sanity. It
makes you question everything you’ve ever learned in life.
Is it right?
Could it be wrong?
Then, when it comes down to it, there can ultimately be only
one judge. In the end, God Almighty is the only one who has the final answer
for those questions. Even for him, life was all about balancing right and
wrong.
Good and evil.
Sinner and saint.
That’s why God picked him.
Gazing down from the heavens, the Lord must have known that
he was the perfect person to do this type of job.
Why?
He was chosen because he was a dutiful follower who didn't
question God’s word. There were people in life who thought first, and then
there were those who jumped right into action.
He was the latter.
Yet, taking a life shouldn’t be done easily. It needed to be
balanced in careful consideration and judgment. Without that, it would be a
bloody mess.
After all, who decided which men and women were destined to
die?
When the time came and their number was up, someone had to
make the final decision.
Who was strong enough to do it?
He was.
There would be no choice, because he was doing the Lord’s
work. When one pictured the great power above, wielding the sword of justice
alone to balance the scales, it was nothing more than fallacy.
To believe that God saw and handled everything on his own
was ridiculous. He may continually have a watchful eye on everyone, but
deliverance of justice could be slow. After all, the Lord was a very busy
deity.
So, he had enlisted a little help.
There was nothing wrong with picking one of your creations
to do the dirty work. Everyone needs a little assistance now and again, or
someone to make spur of the moment calls on the fly.
Well, he was it.
He would watch, pray, and then make the final decision. God
understood, because he was overburdened. Let’s face it; mankind is a vile,
hideous lot who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about their fellow humans.
Now, he was helping God keep the sinners from corrupting the
saints.
It was his calling.
From his childhood, he knew he was destined to handle it. He
always wanted to be special, and what better way than to hold the life of
another in his hand?
This was the ultimate gift from his Lord. It was something
only given out to a few special angels, who he picked to do his bidding.
It
was his job to do what he knew to be right.
With the slightest inclination, life was stolen or
preserved. It was as close to being holy and God-like as he would ever get.
Don’t get him wrong, he knew that he wasn’t even close to being worthy of
worship, but with this offered power, he was a marked man.
He was holy.
As long as he remembered who the boss was, he would be fine.
To think otherwise would be blasphemous. Instead, he liked to think of himself
as the Grim Reaper of sorts. It was his job to listen to God and make his move.
It took planning.
It took patience.
It took cunning.
That’s why he was the chosen one.
The Lord has his plans, and he was destined to be his right
hand. Forget Jesus. He was going to be the sword that smote the sinner and
saved the saint.
It was his duty in life.
As a child, his mother always told him to remain holy. There
were hours spent at church, long periods of bible study, and so much time spent
molding him into the precious vessel of the Lord.
It wasn’t wasted.
She always expected holiness from her family. They needed to
be above the law of God, living and sinning as little as possible. In her home,
you either were on the Lord’s side or you were asking for his wrath.
The choice was easy.
Wouldn’t she be so proud to know that he’d finally reached this
pinnacle? Where she never believed he could do it, God had other plans.
He was on top of the world.
Now, nothing could stop him from making his mark on the people
he was sent to judge. With this new found power, he was above reproach. Anyone
who saw him doing his work would know the truth.
He was meant to be the Angel of Death.
It sent shivers through his body at the mere thought of the title.
Where some people lived their lives in a bubble, he didn't. As a follower of
God, he was firmly rooted in his faith.
Nothing escaped him. He saw it all, and it was his job to
keep track of it. Maybe it was a good thing that he blended in so easily. He
could watch, learn, and handle any situation that arose.
For example?
Well, just look at the woman on his prep table.
He was currently cutting into her chest, trying to remove
her heart. It wasn’t easy. Who knew the breast bone was so damn thick? After
hacking at it for a while, he finally gave up. Instead, with a simple pair of
garden tools, he snapped open the ribs, giving himself some space. Now, he had
direct access to what he needed.
Her heart.
Oh, she was going to
be losing it to him shortly.
After her flagrant actions, there had been no choice.
For weeks, he’d watched her, as she headed in and out of
church and town. On the outside, this woman looked pure, but she wasn’t. She’d
have her open dalliance with whoever she wanted, only to think she was above getting
caught.
Well, she was definitely seen.
He didn't miss any of it.
Oh, and God wasn’t happy.
So, his Angel of Death was called out to do the job. Now,
she was dead and ready for the final part of the task.
Her burial.
What kind of hand of God would he be if he killed them and
didn't take care of getting rid of the bodies?
A piss poor one, that’s for sure!
This was part of the process for him. He’d take, judge, and
then lay them to rest. So, here she was with her chest open and the special jar
waiting for her heart. He wanted to leave a message for those who found her
years from now. It would be his little clue as to why her life was forfeited.
Yes, he had a flair for drama, but God didn't mind. It was
all part of the Lord’s master plan for his creations.
The Angel of Death couldn’t leave a note, because it would
disintegrate with time. Yet, a canopic jar would endure! Granted, he stole that
little tidbit from the Egyptians, but why mess with something that worked?
Reaching into her chest, there was the sucking sound of
flesh and blood as his hand invaded her body. When he felt the squishy sack, he
reached in with the knife to cut it free. Once out of the cavity, he stared at
it in his palm.
He was in awe of the Lord’s creation.
This one organ helped keep us alive and was said to be the
part of our bodies that held love.
It was just one more of his miracles.
Then, he found it all funny. God knew that this woman ‘loved’ a lot of men.
Now, her once beating heart was cold and dead in his hand.
It was ironic on so many levels. More laughter filled him. Here was a woman,
who bedded so many men, and now she was reduced to a cold, dead corpse.
He shook his head sadly.
None of this would have happened if she had just been better
in life. While going to church, she should have paid a little more attention to
the sermons on wrath and judgment.
Now that she was being judged, maybe God would take mercy on
her, showing her the way.
After all, the Lord was all about forgiveness.
Staring down at her, he saw how that probably wouldn’t
happen. Truth be told, some people weren’t worthy of salvation.
Hadn’t he learned that over the years?
Picking up the jar, he stuffed the organ inside before
sealing it shut. Staring at the cavity, he brutally shoved the vessel into her
chest.
In the afterlife, she would need her heart.
Yeah, maybe she could use it to bribe her way into Satan’s
favor. Since she was so accustomed to using her womanly wiles to get what she
wanted, Satan just might give her what she deserved.
A long, fire filled eternity.
More laughter came as he prepared the strips. The scent
filled his nostrils, giving him peace. It was so familiar and calming that he
almost wanted to bathe in it himself. As the aroma filled his senses, he began
soaking the strips in the sacred oil. When they were ready, he would wrap her
body for burial.
He already had the place picked out.
It was the perfect location.
No one would look there, and if for some reason they did, he
wouldn’t be blamed. After all, there would be too many suspects. Then, he could
continue his work.
Correction- he would continue God’s work.
One must not forget who was running this show.
Once she was in the ground, the final chapter in her story
would be written. God could then forgive her, because she died for her sins. There
was still a chance that when she met him in the afterlife, he would let her
into heaven.
It would all come down to her repenting.
If that happened, then he’d done his job.
The evil and impure needed to be saved, and he wouldn’t stop
until he took care of it.
He couldn’t.
This calling consumed all of him. If he tried to stop, he’d
be miserable. For now, he must carry on and save as many sinners as possible.
Then, he’d get his reward when he too was buried.
All his deeds in life would ensure his heavenly retreat in the
afterlife.
He was sure of it.
Returning his focus to the woman, he dumped some of the
fragrant herbs and liquid into her chest before he began coating her body with
them. Next, he would wrap and transport her.
This sinner’s journey was just beginning.
And he couldn’t wait to send her on her way.
It was another job well done.
*
* *
Three Hours Later
In the silence of the
night, he continued digging the hole. It was right beside the last three that he’d
buried out in the middle of nowhere. For him, this was the plan all along.
This spot was ideal.
It stood just outside the church cemetery, oblivious to the
living. This one spot spoke volumes of the people buried there.
See, they weren’t worthy of a proper plot.
Not yet.
God had yet to forgive them. Maybe when they were discovered
and interred somewhere else, they’d be ready for a tombstone and flowers. For
now, they were still impure. God would decide when it was time for them to have
their moment. If they didn't ask for his forgiveness by now, here they would
remain.
As he got down three feet, he hit rock.
Well then, this would have to do.
Dragging her body, wrapped in plastic sheeting to the hole,
he said a prayer before dropping her in. The sick thud of skull hitting rock
made him giddy. The sound brought happiness to him in some perverse way.
God would forgive him.
He knew it.
Once more, he had done a darn good job. Now, he could cover
her up and get the hell out of there. The rains were coming, and he didn't want
to leave too many tracks in the dirt.
No, he needed to stay invisible.
The Angel of Death couldn’t be effective if he wore a sign
giving away his calling, now could he?
God demanded he stay in the shadows, and he was fine with
that. How could he watch those who were to be judged if they knew it was their
time? He couldn’t.
Then, they would be good.
No, he needed to remain hidden to be fair. They all had a
choice in their destiny. If they made good decisions, they’d live longer.
If they didn't…
Yeah, well, she was a testament to her choices, as were her
three companions in the ground.
There was a major lesson here. It was simple enough. You
shouldn’t test God, because you won’t like the outcome.
With the last shovel of dirt, he finally finished the back
breaking task. Grabbing all his things, he loaded them back into his truck.
Now, it was time to escape.
Tomorrow was another day, and certainly there would be more
sin to find. God would point him in the right direction. Before long, these
four would have another friend to keep them company. Since there was an endless
amount of land, there could be an endless number of sinners.
It made him giddy.
“Forgive me, Father, for taking joy in my job,” he prayed.
When he heard the whispered words, he smiled satisfactorily.
All was forgiven.
Inside his truck, he stared into the mirror and couldn’t
help but admire his power.
Yeah, being an angel was tough work. Yet in the end, it was
worth it.
Not all of God’s helpers were meant to spread joy and peace
to his followers.
Someone had to do the dirty work.
And he didn't mind at
all…
*
* *
Two Days Later
Black Mountain Indian Reservation
Getting out of his rental, he crossed the grass to the
meeting house. Everything in Callen Whitefox was on edge. Mostly, because this
was his first assignment away from the people he loved.
After returning from Salem, Elizabeth, Ethan, and he went
back to living. Just a week ago, they found out that their woman was having a
girl. The family was about to get another precious daughter added into their
midst, and they couldn’t be happier.
Maybe that wasn’t a good enough description for all of their
emotions. They were ecstatic!
Now, Callen was back on the road doing what he did best. As liaison
to the Native community, it was his job to mediate. Maybe he was good at it
because it was his nature, or it was all due to his ethnicity. It didn't really
matter, because either way, this one job was going to be a rough one.
He could already tell.
When Native Americans were forced onto reservations hundreds
of years ago, they took it badly. No one wanted their land stolen from them.
Instead of what was promised, they were given poor living conditions, disease
from the white man, and ultimately their death.
What he was facing down there was very reminiscent of years
long ago.
There were more land issues brewing, and it was going to be
damn ugly. Already, the Natives were restless, and he’d yet to start the
mediation process.
As much as Callen was sympathetic to his people, it was his
job to see both sides of the story. In fact, being in love and ‘married’ to an outsider gave him plenty
of perspective for his job. His biggest obstacle wouldn’t be the land being ‘poached’, but the attitude that was
sure to follow.
Pissed off Indians were a dangerous lot. Once backed into a
corner, they were likely to do something irrational, and he needed to nip that
in the bud.
Yeah, it was going to be a long one.
Before entering the building, Callen took a moment to look
around, taking in his surroundings. Black Mountain was a dense reservation. The
land was filled with trees, lush backdrop, and plenty of wildlife. The
indigenous Natives here loved to hunt, build cabins, and try to have a normal
life. From the looks of the space, they took pride in their greenery. The small
two hundred square mile thatch of land was their pride.
Now, it was in danger.
While lush and lovely, this was home and prison all at the
same time.
It gave them both pride and anger.
Being from the Rez, he totally got that.
Now they believed that the white man was moving the land
borders without them knowing it. It was the ultimate insult. First you trap
them, then you make the cage smaller and smaller.
It was adding insult to injury.
This was going to be a big battle, especially since the
tribe wasn’t exactly sure who was doing it.
No, that wasn’t true.
They had a suspect.
It just seemed…
unlikely.
After doing this job for nearly two years, he’d seen many
accusations haphazardly tossed around. Yet, this was one for the record books.
A part of him still couldn’t believe it.
This particular Native land butted a cemetery. Inside the
wrought iron gates were the graves of deceased Christians. The Natives were
accusing the church of trying to steal what wasn’t theirs.
Honestly, he found it funny.
Ahhhh, once more religion had reared its ugly head. While so
many crimes were based on faith and beliefs, his job was often pretty cut and
dried.
Oh, not this time.
The heathens and Christians were about to butt heads.
Now, Callen had to calm the Natives, reassure the
Christians, and soothe so many tempers. There were times he wished there were
two of him. With each case of encroachment, it was getting harder and harder to
find a middle ground. Maybe it was because being Native, he was having a hard
time extracting himself from the situation.
After all, he grew up on a Rez. His perspective was already
tainted. Where he was from, poverty was rampant, food was scarce, and honestly,
he didn't even see a doctor until he was a preteen. Looking at the empty stares
of the Natives, he knew how blessed he was to escape. Yeah, that may have given
him a tiny bit of bias.
Hey, he was only human.
Then again, all that changed. Callen had a decent job, a
home that a Native could only dream about, and a family who loved him. His long
tedious days in old shoes, broken down vehicles, and abject poverty were a
million miles away.
This was why he loved his job.
It made him humble.
How could he come to work every day, see where he came from,
and forget?
There was no way in hell he could become jaded. This daily
experience made him want to work harder for the Natives, and the generations which
were coming up behind him.
At the entrance to the meeting house, he was met by a simple
looking man wearing jeans and a jacket. Dakota Molala was the epitome of Native.
In his late forties, he stood there with his arms crossed, trying to look
imposing.
Yeah, it wasn’t working.
In all honesty, Callen was more terrified of Elizabeth when
they stirred her up.
“Brother Whitefox! Thank you for coming to our reservation,”
he said, holding out his hand in welcome. As customary, the man’s hand was
adorned with turquoise and bracelets fashioned by his people from silver. His
braids were long and indicative of his people.
In that moment, Callen missed his hair.
He couldn’t help it. Pushing it down, he tried to focus on
the issue at hand.
“Chief Molala, thank you for your invitation to your land. I
look forward to assisting you with your problem.”
The man sincerely hoped so. His people didn't trust the FBI
as far as they could throw them. There was so much bad blood brewing. “We heard
that you’re the best mediator, and we’re glad that you could come. I’ve arranged
for you to stay on the reservation while you’re here. We have a few empty
cabins. I hope they’re to your liking. I’ll give you the address and keys
later.”
Callen was appreciative. Although, he’d rather be at home,
sleeping in his own bed beside Elizabeth and Ethan. Oh well, this was work and
duty called.
Going inside the meeting house, Callen took in his
surroundings. It reminded him of the traditional decorations on the Rez at
home. The colors called to Callen, giving him a sense of belonging.
“I appreciate your kindness, Chief. I hope that I can help
you with your situation.”
The man hoped so too. “I’ll be honest with you, Director Whitefox.
We’ve never had this problem before,” he said, taking a seat, as he offered one
to his visitor. The minute he sat, Chief Molala signaled to the woman in the
corner. She rushed over with tea and something to eat for their guest.
Callen wasn’t hungry, but to not accept it would be an
insult. Nodding, he spoke to the woman in his Native language, hoping they were
similar.
When she replied, he relaxed. This was the first step in
gaining their trust. His ethnicity would only go so far. Now, they would watch
to see if he practiced what he preached, so to speak.
The
chief was impressed. “So, you are one of us. Too many of today’s Natives don’t
take the time to learn things from our ancestors. Your family must be very
proud of you.”
Callen
hoped they were. “I’m very much a Native to the core, Chief. In fact, my whole
family is very entrenched in our culture.”
“Please,
call me Dakota. I’m not really this formal,” he stated, sipping his tea. I just
need to know that the person who will be representing us has our best interests
at heart. When I heard they were sending a Native, I was wary. How can one who
knows the atrocities of the white man still work for him? I’ll be honest, I was
definitely worried.”
Score
one for the FBI. Two minutes in and they were on a first name basis. “Please
call me Callen. As to the ‘working for the white man’,” he began, “I’ve found
that it’s best to judge each one by their actions and not the color of their
skin. Like many Natives, you get the good and the bad.”
The
man smiled warmly. “That is very wise.”
Whew.
Okay, so far, so good. Callen began to relax.
“My
people will be happy to know that we will be understood.”
Callen
knew this was all part of the very intricate dance. “We may not be of the same
tribe, but we share the same goals, Dakota. In fact, my boss is also Native. I
can assure you that he cares about your issues.”
The
man ate a cookie. “Yes, I’ve seen him on the news after his abduction. It was a
shame what they did to his hair. It’s a very big part of us,” he said, touching
the braid.
Callen
agreed there. Every day he missed it, longing to get it back. No matter how
hard he tried, Callen felt lost without it.
“I
see that you cut yours.”
Ah,
the man did his research. It wasn’t like it was hard. The day the media saw him
and Elizabeth with shorn hair, it was like a maelstrom of publicity. Everyone
and their brother assumed it was because of what the killer did to Ethan.
Well,
they were absolutely correct. They had sacrificed their hair for his heart.
“Yes,
I did. It was to stand with my brother. Your blood matters most in life.”
The
man seemed to appreciate that. After all, they were all one.
“Now,
what seems to be the issue, Dakota? You mentioned that there were land
encroachments from your eastern neighbor, but that’s all I know.”
When
his body language changed, Callen couldn’t help but notice it. The smile was
gone, the arms were crossed, and his demeanor was tense.
“Someone
has been burying their dead on this Rez.”
That
had Callen’s attention. “I’m sorry, what?” There was no way that he had heard
that correctly. There had to be some sort of mistake.
“Let
me start at the beginning. To our east is a cemetery, which is owned by a local
town church. We’ve never had a problem with them before. Yet as of late, we’ve
discovered their dead are spilling past the wrought iron fence to find their
final resting place on our land.”
Callen
found that odd.
Who
buried people in the woods? Already, the hairs on the back of his neck were
standing. It didn't seem right to him.
At all.
“Please
continue,” he offered to the chief, trying to get to the bottom of this.
“We
had a few of the tribe out scouting the area. We’re looking to expand the
camping grounds for local tourism. That’s how we make our money in the off
season. The little shops and stores on the Rez don’t supply our people with
enough income.”
He
understood so far.
“So,
we went to the furthest part of the Rez to work our way in. We wanted to be
respectful of the cemetery and not have a campground right beside it. It would
become a place where our guests would undoubtedly wander. You know how old cemeteries
garner attention. They draw in the ghost hunters and riff raff.”
“I’m
with you so far, sir.”
“Once
arriving at the gate, the scouting group found that some ground appeared to
have been messed with. Immediately, they came back to report the situation. Had
it been a small patch of dirt, it may have gone unnoticed.”
Callen
didn’t like where this was heading.
Disturbed
land was one thing, but the chief already knew that there were graves. That could
only mean one thing…
“So,
I headed out there to investigate.”
Callen
was finding it hard not to jump to conclusions. Being in the FBI, you dealt
with a lot of crazy shit. This was beginning to sound very familiar.
“We need you to stop this before it escalates.
The bodies must be removed from our land and returned to their side of the
fence.”
Yep,
it was very familiar indeed.
“Chief,
you know for sure that there are bodies?” Callen crossed his fingers, praying
that the man was just assuming. After all, he could have found some disturbed
dirt. Maybe this was a case of overactive imagination.
“Yes.
We dug them up.”
Or
not.
“WHAT?”
Callen wasn’t quite sure he heard the man correctly.
“I
said…”
He
stopped him. “I know what you said. I’m having a big problem with the last
part. You dug up bodies?”
“We
were going to drive them back to the church and leave them there. Then, we got
word that you were coming and opted to let you see what we found.”
Callen
couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You actually disturbed a grave?” That
was a big no-no for most Natives. They didn't like to bother the dead after
they were buried. To them, the deceased needed time to cross over.
“Yes,
we dug all of them up.”
Yeah,
this whole conversation was getting worse by the minute. “How many is all?”
“In
total, we found four bodies. As you can see, it’s beginning to be a big
problem. If they’re burying their dead here, eventually it’s going to spread.
I’m assuming it’s people who couldn’t afford a proper burial, and that’s why
the unmarked graves.”
Callen
was getting that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Why do you say that,
Chief?”
He
shrugged. “They’re not in caskets and their bodies are wrapped in these
makeshift shrouds. It’s kind of creepy.”
Oh boy.
Okay,
this was all wrong. No one buried bodies without a casket. There were laws and
regulations in the United States. Callen may not be aware of all of them, but
he knew that even Natives had to use a vessel to house the remains. No one
wanted contaminated drinking water.
The
idea made him want to gag as he stared down at his tea.
“I
need to see them. Where are they?”
The
man stood. “I’ll drive you out there. I sent a few of our people out to wait
with them while you and I had our meeting. We were certain that you would
handle it once you heard of our issues.”
Oh,
he’d be handling it alright.
If
it was what he suspected, it didn't look like he was heading home anytime soon.
In fact, he was going to be getting some back up on this one.
Four
bodies screamed full FBI investigation.
Getting
into the chief’s beat up truck, he buckled in. Sending a text to his brother,
he told him he thought they had an issue. Now, he’d need to make sure before he
said anything more. There was no point working Ethan up if it was nothing.
Yeah,
he wasn’t that naïve.
Where
there was smoke, there was fire. Four corpses pretty much equaled a five alarm
blaze.
As
they drove on in silence, the chief finally pulled over. “We need to walk from
here, Callen. I hope you don’t mind getting your boots dirty.”
He
didn't. All he wanted was to get clarification before he contacted base. Right
now, his pulse was pounding in his neck.
Fortunately
for them, the walk was a short hike into the wooded area. Despite the
situation, it reminded Callen of home. The dense forest always called to him.
Ironically,
it still was. Only this time, it called to the FBI agent in him instead.
Once
they arrived, Callen weighed the situation. Standing there were three Native
men, all holding shovels.
“They’re
still in the holes,” Chief Molala said, pointing into the shallow graves.
Callen
carefully moved toward to the gaping holes. Stopping at the first one, he was
immediately hit with a familiar scent. It reminded him of Christmas.
He
found that odd.
The
hole wasn’t deep and inside was the first body. It was wrapped in a white cloth
and tied with strips of torn material. All he could think of was some scary old
move.
“Are
you serious?” he said, moving toward the other holes. In each one, he found
similar remains. “Is this how you found them?” he asked, glancing over his
shoulder at the men.
“Yes,
it is. Now, what should we do?”
Callen
almost wanted to start laughing. If they thought they had a big problem before,
it was about to get a million times worse. His suspicions were right.
This
was definitely FBI worthy.
Callen
hated to break it to the man, but the chief didn't have someone interloping on
his land. He had someone sneaking onto the reservation to do something far
worse.
In
fact, it was sinister.
“Chief,
I have to call this one in. These bodies aren’t that old. You don’t have
someone stealing ground for graves.”
“We
don’t?” he replied.
“No,
you have someone hiding bodies. You have a killer using the reservation as a
dumping ground.”
He
looked surprised.
“That
can’t be good,” he stated.
Callen
laughed. “Yeah, trust me. It never is.”
I hope you enjoy! When it's available, you'll find the link here!
xoxooxoxo MK
