Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross

Dean backed the Hummer into the garage and watched as the security door lowered and locked. Hitting the send button, he prepared himself to sell the story.

“Sheriff Daniels here.” A groggy voice answered the phone.

“Hi Sheriff, it’s Father O’Sullivan. I’m sorry to call so late.”

“No, that’s fine, Father. How can I help you?” Dean could hear the sheriff moving around and figured he was getting up from bed.

“My phone rang a short time ago from an anonymous caller. I tried to get him to tell me who he was, but he refused. Said he could only tell me what he knew if he stayed unknown, so I agreed. What he told me was very disturbing information. I just—Sheriff, I can’t even get the words out.”

“Take your time, Father. I will grab a pen.”

Dean took a ragged breath, his voice shaking just enough to really sell it.

“The caller said he had inadvertently come across a man that he had a very strong suspicion was who took the Adam’s girl. I wasn’t here when she was taken, but I’m sure the name must seem familiar for you?” Dean asked, knowing full well the sheriff would know. A missing child, presumed murdered, wasn’t something you’d forget.

“Yes, unfortunately, I remember all too well.”

“Well, he said that the man he suspected was an old friend of his that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. He stumbled across a shack of sorts on his property, and what he saw—he was too upset to explain, but he told me that he needed to tell someone.”

“Did this man give you a name?”

“Yes, a Timothy Baker. He mentioned a scrapyard. Does that make sense?”

“Son-of-a-bitch!”

Dean stared at his speaker in shock. He’d never heard the sheriff say a bad word the entire time he’d lived here.

“Yeah, I know the man. Listen, Father, I should go. Thank you for the information.”

“Sheriff, I think I should go with you. If this is as bad as this man acted, then this is a matter a priest should attend. I will stay out of the way.”

The sheriff was quiet a moment before answering. “Okay, I think that is a good idea. I’ll pick you up in twenty.” With that, the sheriff hung up.

Smiling, Dean got out of the Hummer and unlocked the heavy metal door that separated the garage from the nosey church-goers. He jogged up the stairs to his apartment and quickly got changed into his robes, dress pants, and best Sunday shoes before he made his way back downstairs to wait out in front of the church for the sheriff.

When the sheriff pulled up, he slipped into the warm car and looked over at the sheriff.

“Is it wrong of me, Father, not to want to find what we might tonight, and yet, also hope that we do?”

“Not at all, Sheriff Daniels, not at all.” The sheriff nodded, and they were off.

* * *

Dean had waited outside the scrapyard gates while the sheriff and his deputies inspected the place for Tim. They obviously were going to be disappointed not to find him, but a twitch of a smile ghosted Dean’s face as he remembered the screams and choking sounds distinctly before Tim died.

“What are you staring at?” Dean called out to the same grey cat that had been around earlier. “Don’t judge.”

Dean turned away from the yellow eyes and watched as the sheriff walked toward him, hat in hand. “It’s a good thing you came out tonight, Father.”

Dean spotted the lights and bright yellow tape first as they rounded the corner to the make-shift shack. The deputies standing around outside looked like they’d either been crying or had been sick. “You should prepare yourself, Father.”

Dean nodded and stepped into the freezing, cold space. Puffs of white steam rose into the air as he breathed, but his blood ran like molten lava as he stared at the faces of six dead children. They stood in glass cases with a door on the front like a miniature freezer aisle in a grocery store. Each little girl was wearing a frilly dress, and their milk-white skin was done up like porcelain dolls, and their hair in classic pigtails with ribbons.

The other side of the room was full of dollhouses and stuffed animals as well as clothes that Dean was pretty sure Tim had used to pretend the girls were still breathing. What really disturbed him more than anything else in the space, was the bed in the corner with child-sized handcuffs attached to the posts.

“I told you, this is not for the faint of heart,” the sheriff said as he walked up beside Dean.

“I don’t think anyone can look at this and be alright.” Dean held up the small bible in his hand. “I’m going to say a few prayers for the children before the coroner removes the bodies.”

“Please do. Maybe you should exorcise this place while you’re at it.” The sheriff grabbed his shoulder. “I’d really love to know who the tipper was. Maybe they have an idea of where we can find this bastard.” Dean nodded as the sheriff left him alone with the six pairs of sightless eyes staring at him.

It didn’t seem to matter how many pedophiles, rapists, or abusers he killed. There was always another. Dean stepped up close to the glass and looked at a girl he guessed was no more than five. At least with the work he did, it meant that he’d saved one more child from a similar fate. His hand tightened around the bible. He knew what it was like to be at the mercy of one of these fuckers. That piece of knowledge fueled him like a fatty meal in a barren landscape, and he would always come back for more.

“The coroner is ready,” the sheriff said, poking his head in the main door.

“I hope you catch this one, Sheriff,” Dean said as he stepped back outside to join the sheriff and deputies.

“So do I, Father. I better get you home. There is nothing else for you to do here tonight.” Sheriff Daniels walked toward the gates, and Dean fell into step beside him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but I have let the boys know that if they need to speak to someone, your door is always open.”

“Very well.”

Much like the ride over to the scrapyard, the journey back to the church was the same. Dean watched as the sheriff pulled away from the church, and the moment the taillights were out of sight, he smiled.

Please, please don’t do thisplayed over and over like a favorite song in his head.

He looked up at the clear night sky and savored the cold air as it refreshed his lungs and mind. His mouth pulled up in a smile as he pushed open the church door. He would sleep well tonight with thoughts of Tim as he gasped for his last breath and that final moment as Tim’s eyes bugged out as he begged one last time for his life. The images were like a beautiful ballet in his mind. This town and the sleepy ones surrounding it had a lot more skeletons left to clean out, and he just so happened to be the right kind of man to do the scrubbing.