Asylum

14:45 Hours

As Kelly's 2001 desert tan Range Rover Defender drifted on the broken pavement and sand, Maxine saw the half-hidden tower surrounded by the sunlight. She couldn't help but stare at the letter on the dashboard wedged under the windshield.

Turning from Ocean Avenue onto Admiral Way, they saw the hulking frame of Our Lady of Hope Asylum for the Sick.

Making another left, they entered through the rotting iron gates and began the drive up the winding road of broken blacktop, sand, and stones. It wasn't long before they spotted several RMPs from the Eight-eight precinct and unmarked cars converging on the entrance. Their light bars seemed lost in the day's brightness.

Maxine's eyes fixated on the sheriff's department CSI trucks parked near a wall with massive windows and a small opening beneath them.

"Kelly, look," she said and pointed. Kelly had not yet brought the Range Rover to a stop. Instead of parking at the main entrance, he turned toward the CSI trucks and looked at what Maxine had pointed at.

Written in white paint on the side wall near a small basement window was a warning.

"Through me, you pass into the city of woe," she said. "Through me, you pass into eternal pain. Through me, among the people lost for aye."

He slowed the truck to a rolling stop and stared at Maxine. Her eyes widened, and her breaths became shallow. The familiar look of fear and panic surfaced in her eyes and face.

"Hey," said Kelly. "What does it mean?"

Maxine sighed before shifting in her seat. As she put her hands on her head, she cleared her throat before looking into Kelly's eyes.

Kelly felt a tingle in his shadow sense. His shoulders dropped as he put his hands in his lap.

Maxine stared at the envelope with the ripped seam on the dashboard and the letter stuffed inside. She leaned forward, took it in her fingers, and held it in both palms, leaning on her lap. Looking back at the wall and the white writing, her degree in English Literature was finally being put to use.

"This line is from a comedy called Dante's Inferno. It's a journey to the nine circles of hell."

She looked over at Kelly, who leaned flat against the headrest, staring at her over his shoulder.

"It's a poem that takes place on Good Friday, March 25th, 1300. The main character, the poet, gets lost in the woods. He comes to a mountain and realizes that he's been damned by his life choices and lack of penance. As he starts up the mountain to get a better view of his location, he's met by three beasts. A leopard, a lion, and—"

Kelly interrupted her, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Let me guess," he said. "A werewolf."

Max nodded.

"Uh-uh...nope," he said. "I'm done with this shit, man."

Before leaving the Range Rover's safety, Kelly took his cell phone, swiped the screen, and dialed.

"This is freaking crazy," he said as Maxine sat back and listened to Kelly's phone ring.

"Yeah, Uncle Mike, we're here...K-bye." Kelly hung up and put his phone in his pocket. "He's sending someone up to bring us to the crime scene."

But before they left the truck, Maxine sighed and took hold of his hand. Kelly squeezed her palm and was gentle in turning her chin to face him.

"Whatever is in there, we face together. We bear each other's burdens and always have each other's back."

"Is that the partner code?" she said.

"That's our code. And it will be for the rest of our days."

No sooner had he let go of Maxine than a CSI, with his blue windbreaker emblazoned with yellow lettering, exited the main entrance to the Asylum.

Maxine and Kelly left the truck, walked underneath the yellow police line tape, showed their badges, and met the investigator. Maxine kept the envelope and scrunched letter in her back pocket.

"Are you Corporal Kelly?" said the CSI agent. Maxine walked past him and spoke over her shoulder.

"Yes, he is, and lead the way."

The investigator guided them down a fetid, black corridor that emanated a sense of loathing and agony.

Handrails lined both sides, and huge chunks of peeling paint and plaster riddled the ceiling and walls. A lone water fountain sat just outside a room without a door.

"It's right over here in the embalming room," said the investigator.

The smell of stagnant blood and chemicals consumed Maxine's nose, mouth, and mind.

"Oh, my God. That smell is horrifying," she said. She stopped, turned toward the wall, and heaved. Kelly was quick to shield her from the embalming room so Maxine could have privacy.

"We're in a hallway, sweetheart," he said. "The smell is always worse when it's funneled, and there's little ventilation."

Max heaved again and again until her stomach emptied on the cracked and chipping tile from the nineteen-seventies.

Kelly was patient and stood beside her. He helped her hold back her ponytail until she retched for the last time. He kneeled and handed her a tissue already stained with tobacco spit and drool.

Under normal circumstances, that kind of gesture would disgust and turn her off, but this wasn't normal, and she knew nothing would ever be again.

"I know, honey," said Kelly. "I'm sorry, but it's all I have." Maxine wiped her mouth, handed it back to him, and stood. She forced a smile and gagged, but her stomach was empty.

"One day," said Kelly. "And I hope that day never comes. You'll get used to it."

As they neared the room, she watched several investigators and CSI move in and out. Some wore masks, while others wore face shields, but they all wore gloves. It became a blur, like when she saw Casey DeLorre's foot protruding from the woodland carpet of needles and dirt.

Kelly's father walked from the room, holding a handkerchief to his mouth and nose. Maxine felt relieved that she wasn't the only one offended by the stench. But she sighed when he sneezed, wiped his lip, and put his hanky in his back pocket.

"Here," said his dad. He first handed Maxine a pair of black latex gloves, then his son. "I'm warning you," he whispered. He looked down at the floor and dug his booted toe into small pieces of rubble. "This is as bad as they come." He put his hand on Maxine's shoulder and cleared his throat. His eyes were deep and piercing but confident. Somehow, he showed no distress at whatever awaited her in the room. But she found no solace in his stare or his touch.

"Unfortunately, Max, you need to see this. And I'm sorry in advance."

"Alright, pop," said Kelly. "Now that you've scared her half to death. Can we just get this over with?"

Before Kelly put on his gloves, he took his tobacco pouch from his utility pocket, opened it, and prepared a wad in his palm. He manipulated and gathered it until perfect, then closed it in one, pulling back his cheek with the other. Then he placed the wad between his teeth and gum, letting it fall into place.

"Are you finished?" snapped Maxine. "Why the production? Unbelievable. I'm ready, Lieutenant Kelly."

One of the CIU investigators handed Maxine a large piece of gauze for her nose. Max took it with a smile and used it to pinch her nostrils. Her hands trembled as she followed Kelly's father into the embalming chamber.

Five double-hung windows lit the room. Curtains on both sides enveloped two rotting gurneys. She saw the pull chain and socket plate dangling from the wall in one. The other had a hole where it should be.

She delayed as long as she could before looking at Moritz's latest victim.

This young girl, Moritz's Awkward One, had her lips torn off to the jawbone, exposed teeth, and a tongue swelling from her mouth.

She saw bite-size pieces of flesh scattered over the floor and underneath the gurney.

Her neck showed her spine vertebrae through the sinew, with some leftover muscle that resembled scraps. Nothing remained of her vocal cords, trachea, or any other part related to her voice. Moritz, believing himself to be of the lineage of the Hermit of Garnier, Dole of Saint Bonnot, consumed everything.

She watched multiple investigators wearing paper gowns as they neared with tape measures and their cameras. One with a face shield kept walking to the drainage sinks.

Blood covered the floor and the left-hand wall. And since nobody was bending or kneeling, she knew Moritz had positioned his Awkward One, preparing her for a funeral.

She squeezed her nostrils tighter to where it stung. And the horrific sight unfolded when one of the CSI investigators stepped away from the table.

"Oh man," said Kelly. With his hand propped on his hips, he bit his lower lip and turned away to look at one of the hulking windows.

But Max couldn't stop.

Maxine's lips quivered as her stomach turned over. She looked for a sink that didn't have blood or evidence in it. While hurrying towards the entrance, she discovered a solitary washbasin, quickening her speed before she vomited again.

"We're ready, Lieutenant," said one investigator. Lieutenant Kelly and three Major Case Detectives took up each side of the gurney.

"On three," said Kelly's dad.

When he counted, they moved the corpse from the forty-year-old gurney to CSI's stretcher for bagging. When they transferred the body, they discovered a small envelope concealed inside a sealed cellophane wrapper. It had become familiar to her—the size, color, and type were unchanged. One investigator photographed it as another leaned over and tried to read through the blood-soaked barrier.

But the Kellys and Maxine knew better. So much so that Captain Kelly, much like he did that night in his home, dictated his step-by-step retrieval.

An investigator handed him a razor as he put the envelope on the gurney and sliced open the cellophane barrier. Speaking the whole time, he took the envelope from its blood-soaked tomb. He held it with his fingertips and looked at Maxine.

"We know this is for you," he said. "Third time the charm?"

Kelly laughed, putting his hands behind his head.

"Try fourth," he said. "Max got a letter from him late this morning before you called."

Maxine somehow shut the room out. The putrid smells that once churned her stomach were gone, and the cacophony of voices from Kelly, his father, his uncle, and everyone in the room faded.

The sight of the girl's corpse, with her shredded flesh and organs exposed, went unnoticed. Before her, the letter rested, its white envelope made of linen reflecting the dim light in the room. As she traced her finger along its edges, she could almost feel the weight of Dole of Saint Bonnot's words lingering in the wake of his ruthless kill.

She wore a fresh pair of black latex gloves, feeling the powder lining against her fingertips. With an approving nod from Captain Kelly, she unfurled the letter, hearing the faint rustle of the paper.

And like the first time in Lieutenant Chaney's office, it revealed twelve distinct creases, each forming three neatly folded columns.

The faint scent of ink danced in her nostrils.

Molasses. How did he do that?

The enigma of this new letter consumed every sight and sound, its purpose and meaning shrouded in uncertainty.

And this time, Maxine didn't need anyone's comfort or support or prompting to read the letter. She had become accustomed to this man who believed himself her guardian and prophet. Although he was a madman, she took comfort in the fact that he posed no threat to her and would never do anything to hurt her or Kelly.

So, Maxine cleared her voice, as it filled with confidence and the maturity only this job could bring. She turned and smiled at Kelly.

"Sweetie," he said. "You don't have to read that. He's in the wind. Let Major Case deal with him—come on. Let's get some air."

Maxine tilted her head and smirked, rolled her eyes, and raised her eyebrows.

"It's just a letter. It could be nothing, right?" she said. Kelly flashed back to Chaney's office and the letter she first received.

"Or it could be something," he replied.

Maxine held her head high and kept her back straight. She assumed the posture of an orator.

PostScript - My dear girl, please consider this my conclusion to the letter you received earlier. And please regard this earnestly. I fear I have not warned you sufficiently about what will be upon you soon. Your love for your hero will flourish but may end in blood, flame, and ash. So, my most dearest Maxine, I wish to leave you this final warning through an ancient narrative older than even the first words of the Torah. Please read them, study them, and be on the alert! Your adversary seeks to destroy you, so you and your future husband must be prepared.

Now, there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.

And the Lord said unto Satan, whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord and said, from going to and fro on the earth and walking up and down in it.

And the Lord said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?

Then Satan answered the Lord and said, Doth Job fear God for naught? Hast, not thou made an hedge about him, his house, and all he hath on every side? Thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land.

But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.

My dear, you will become this Job and must remain resolute.

The horrors endured by witches fuel the demons haunting this land and the unborn. They will rise again, seeking blood and retribution, their presence spoken of through the sinister whispers that taint the air and the chilling touch that will send cold shivers down your spine.

But, again, my dearest Maxine, I have prayed that in that time, you will survive, your life will bear fruit, and children will come from your hero. Yet I don't pray as one enslaved to the God of crosses and absolution but to the Prince of the power of the air, dominion, energy, and strength.

And now, dear lady, these will be my last words to you. I am and shall always be, most affectionately yours.

Dole of Saint Bonnot