cerulean ink

I. The Die is Cast

Success.

As he slipped silently into the darkened room he could barely make out the sleek form of an automobile on the far side of the cavernous garage. He crept breathlessly toward it through the shadows and thought of the day to come, and the work yet to be done in His name; and the world was silent.

The alarm clock almost always woke Josh Vincent these days. It was unnervingly patient, even after repeated expletive-laden flights across the still-darkened room, always reluctantly followed by heavy footfalls as the morning’s glow grew. And every morning while standing at the picture window, he would contemplate his life before leaving for work. On this August Saturday however, he wasn’t due into the office until noon, and intended to devote as much time as possible to his slumber, alarm clock be damned. For this reason, when he awoke to the shriek of his car alarm at 10:11 AM, he was not a happy man. As he angrily slipped on his robe and slippers, he kissed his wife Sylvia and murmured sleepily into her ear before groggily descending the stairs and heading to the garage.

Downstairs in the shadows, he checked his watch again, wondering if he had given himself enough time, and after placing the thick leather tome on the hood of the car, he again sank into the shadows and shrouded himself in the inky darkness.

Opening the door, Josh mashed the button on his remote, halting the alarm in mid-yelp, and began to turn with thoughts of sleep returning slowly to his mind. That is, until he noticed the dark object sitting in the middle of his hood, impossible to miss even in the dim sliver of light from the open doorway. Walking slowly down the cold concrete steps, he approached the car, and out of the darkness behind him, the stranger followed. Even before he reached the car, he recognized the book, thanks in large part to the five raised, gold-embossed letters on its cover. Picking up the book and turning it over in his hands, he noticed a familiar section had been bookmarked. Turning to the page, he found a highlighted part, and as he began to read it, his blood ran to ice, he knew it well.

“And the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, until the people
had avenged themselves upon their enemies. Is not this written
in the book of Jasher? So the sun stood still in the midst of
heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day.”

As he read the final words, he felt something cold press against his pounding right temple and heard a low voice from behind intone, “Alea iacta est”. The silencer did its job well, and Josh’s body was not found until his wife wandered curiously downstairs over four hours later.

II. All it Takes is Finding the Wall

As he awoke to the shrill clamor of his phone at 3:05 PM, John Copeland sighed and reached across the sheets to the bedside table. Glancing at the caller ID, he grumbled aloud as he quickly realized that his afternoon slumber would be abruptly ended by this untimely phone call.
“Mike, its Saturday, what the hell do you want?”

“John, I had to call you. It’s Vincent.”

“Did that bastard do it again?!”

“He’s dead, John. Somebody walked in and shot him in his own garage, looks like some kinda vigilante. I think you should come over and check it out for yourself.”
He hesitated. “You still remember where his house is, right?”

Copeland’s thoughts drifted for a second before he finally replied, “Yeah, I remember.”

Hanging up the phone, he was plunged into thought over what he had just heard. However, his thoughts alone would not solve this case, and Copeland decided to reconsider his opinions at the scene of the crime after a hot shower. Stepping welcomingly into the steaming shower, his mind drifted again. Some people in the area might have remembered Josh Vincent, but Copeland had his own seat in hell reserved for the man. And as he slipped on his father’s old crucifix, he thought. His thoughts consumed him until he pulled into the crowded driveway of the all-too-familiar brick residence at 24 Mallard Crossing Lane.

Walking up towards the garage, he noted with distain that someone had tipped off the local news; at this point it was hard to imagine his Saturday starting off any worse.

Except for Vincent.

And at that moment, Copeland decided it might be worth all this trouble to stop him from remembering the grin on the man’s face three years ago as he walked out of the courthouse an innocent man. A ‘colossal blunder’ was what the newspaper called it, a mistake in police procedure whose blame could only be placed squarely on the shoulders of Detective John Copeland. And for months afterwards, this fact was never far from his thoughts, etched into his mind along with Vincent’s cheshire grin.

Briskly walking past the huddled news crews, he was quickly recognized and swarmed around with cameras rolling as he pushed his way into the garage. However, one question made Copeland pause on the threshold and turn to face the cameras as one brave reporter asked the question they were all thinking. “Detective Copeland, we have heard that this may be a vigilante killing. Do you think this could stem from the victim’s alleged murder charges three years ago, in which your use of your father‘s illegal evidence caused him to be cleared of all charges?”

Copeland bristled noticeably at the question before quickly regaining his composure and mustering an unconvincing no comment. And then, as he turned and lay his eyes on the crowded room beyond, he began to understand why his partner had called him at such an ungodly hour.

On the far wall, the killer had scrawled ‘10:13’, which was currently being snapped furiously by the police photographers from every angle as Copeland spotted Lieutenant Mike Douglas talking animatedly to one of the other officers in the corner of the teeming room. Stepping closer, he noticed the crumpled form on the floor near their feet and the book lying open on the hood of the nearby car. Even from a distance, Copeland recognized the book and while walking over to Douglas he glanced at it and began to read the opened page. And as Copeland finished reading, Douglas began to tell him everything he knew. It wasn’t long, however, before their conversation was interrupted by the simultaneous ringing of their cell phones.

III. False in One Thing, False in All

Reveling in the glory of His service, he could only smile when he thought of the work left to be done, and he kissed his crucifix for good luck before smiling and placing the leather-bound book on the oak tabletop and retreating further into the depths of the deserted library.

Mark Jansen prided himself on being the only partner in the office on Saturdays, preferring to drown himself in work these days. It was often whispered by many in the firm that lately he worked as if the very demons of hell were nipping at his heels, but his work was steady as ever. In fact, Jansen’s work was better than it had ever been, and he tried to console himself with that fact as he headed down the hallway toward the library. Glancing at the clock on the wall as it ticked past 3:10 PM, Jansen decided this would be his last case of the day; he wanted to get out of there before the cleaning crews came at 3:30. Nearing the dimly lit glass doors of the library, he noticed the book lying on the table and frowned as he mentally chastised his co-workers yet again for their carelessness.

Opening the heavy glass door, he flipped the light switch and muttered a quiet curse as the light flickered and blew out, leaving him in the murky blackness. He had expertly woven his way through the aisles and located his book, and was turning to leave the library again when he stole another look at the shadowy volume on the table and froze. His feet felt like lead as he dragged them to the now-open book, and the familiar highlighted words sent a shot of terror down his spine.

“And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him,
and cried, saying, thou art the Son of God.”

Just as Jansen finished reading, a faint rustle in the shadows behind him was followed almost immediately by a cold pressure on the back of his head. And as a voice from behind uttered “Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus”, Jansen’s growing sobs almost drowned out the silencer’s second work of the day.

IV. O King, Have I Done No Hurt

And as he snapped his phone shut, Copeland thought; mainly about how his life had seemed so much easier only one hour earlier. Another victim had been found; apparently someone from the cleaning crew of a local law firm had found him only 10 minutes earlier, working hard on a Saturday afternoon. The captain had also added that he and Douglas were wanted at the scene immediately, and shooting a glance at his partner, Copeland figured he was getting the same news. He decided to get a head start on him and he again made his way past the growing swarm of news crews. The return trip, thankfully, was completed without incident.

This murder, however, had dredged up old memories that he would rather forget. He was glad that Vincent was dead; yes, more than anyone, the man deserved it, but he was a good cop and he wouldn’t let it influence this investigation. Such traits had proved useful over Copeland’s four year career with the force, and he had been promoted to detective within a year. But then, the Vincent case had happened.
It had started as a simply innocent conversation between Copeland and his father, and somehow ended in the termination of Hugh Copeland’s lifelong career as a clergyman and the acquittal of an obviously guilty man for cold-blooded murder. Copeland had remarked about a case he was involved in, and his father had told him about a confession he had taken two days earlier, in which a local man named Josh Vincent had talked about an eerily familiar murder. After investigation, the evidence pointed overwhelmingly to Vincent, but the defense was determined to figure out how the police had found their client in a crime with no witnesses.

During a full-scale inquiry into the origins of the investigation, the truth became known and Copeland was demoted, but his father paid an even greater price. After fifty-four years of devoted service, his innocent comments caused him to be fired from the Pineyard Community Church after the churches’ disapproval of his lack of discretion. Since that day, his father had never spoken to him, and as Copeland pulled into the surprisingly empty parking lot, he made a mental note to call him whenever he left work.

V. Salvation Lies Within

Walking from his car, Copeland was glad to see that the newshawks hadn’t arrived yet, he didn’t want to deal with them again so soon. He walked in and was led through a maze of corridors to a darkened room with glass doors, on which were written 3:11, in the same distinct handwriting. Also noticing the bible on the table and examining the similar gunshot wound of the victim, Copeland figured they were looking for the same suspect in both cases. And just then as he shifted in the light, he noticed a manila envelope beneath the table. After putting on his gloves Copeland leaned over and picked it up, then walked into the hall to examine its contents.

In the light of the corridor, the envelope contained a cassette tape and a single page of text, on which was scrawled “Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus”, and signed with the initials F.D. For once he was happy not to have been upgraded to a car with a CD player as he headed back to his car to listen to the tape. Outside, Copeland spotted Douglas pulling into the lot and beckoned him over to his car, quickly explaining about the crime scene and the envelope before putting the tape into the deck. Douglas nodded and pulled out a plastic bag from his coat which contained another cassette tape, which had been found in Vincent’s garage. After a brief pause, the tape began with a man’s voice speaking softly.

“Forgive me father, I have sinned. I… killed my wife. I killed her, I didn’t mean to, I just, we were arguing, and I hit her. And she fell.” He paused. “I told the police it was an accident, but I must confess to the Lord. Father, what be my penance?”

And in a calm voice Hugh Copeland replied, “Someday you will die. Read your book.”

VI. When Soft Voices Rise

John Copeland had never been as confused as he was at that moment, hearing his father’s voice on the cassette, apparently receiving a confession from the murder victim. He wordlessly switched tapes with Douglas and slid the second tape in, mashing the play button anxiously, hoping for some enlightenment. But as he listened to Vincent describe the details of his crime, followed by the same calm statement from his father, Copeland only found more confusion.

Several moments passed in silence before the two officers began to talk about the confessions, and neither officer could explain how the vigilante had obtained taped confessions from Copeland’s father’s church. As Copeland pulled out the piece of paper, Douglas also revealed a folded sheet of paper which had also been in the envelope, which read “Alea iacta est”, along with the same cryptic signature. Neither officer could discern the text, aside from the fact that it was Latin, and they decided to meet back at the station to gather their evidence.

When the pair got back to the station, Copeland decided to look up the Latin phrases, while Douglas would dig through the old news articles for any information on the case of Mark Jansen. Logging onto his computer, Copeland went to the one website he knew would provide him with all of his answers as he typed google.com into the address bar and tapped the enter key. The page quickly loaded and he quickly began experimenting with the phrases from each of the notes. After only five minutes of searching he had deciphered all of the text, and after printing it out, he impulsively grabbed the two bibles from his desk and stood to meet Douglas in his office.

Walking in, he heard Douglas curse loudly and watched as he slammed his fist down on the desk, laughing aloud at his partner’s continued refusal to learn the department’s computer system. Handing him a copy of the still-warm paper, he read off the definitions and explained the origins of the suspect’s signature, F.D., Fidei Defensor, or in English, the Defender of the Faith. After helping Douglas search the archives, the detectives found that Jansen’s case had indeed been ruled an accident, and they decided to send the tape to the lab for voice analysis immediately.

After Douglas left, Copeland pulled one of the leather tomes towards him, opened to the bookmarked section, and read the highlighted passage, Josh 10:13:

“And the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, until the people
had avenged themselves upon their enemies. Is not this written
in the book of Jasher? So the sun stood still in the midst of
heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day.”

Instinctively, Copeland turned to the Book of Mark, and was surprised to find that 3:11 was highlighted in this book as well. Setting down the first bible, Copeland picked up the second as Douglas walked back into his office, and Copeland remarked about his observation to his partner. Picking up the bible from his desk, Douglas quickly skipped to the two sections, and then read from his notepad of the case details. He looked deep in thought, and Copeland looked at him quizzically.

”Mike, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Well, it just seems to be too much of a coincidence to me that both of the victims have the same first names of the bible books their quotes are from.”

Copeland thought a second, and then wondered why he hadn’t seen it earlier. Douglas continued, “And while I was down at the lab, I had a hunch and I checked the time of death of both of the victims. Vincent was killed sometime between 10 and 10:30, and our man Jansen was killed sometime around 3 or 3:15….”

Losing his patience quickly, Copeland interrupted, “Get to the point, Mike.”

“John, it’s the numbers he’s writing; 10:13 and 3:15, the ones we thought were just the verse numbers, it looks like that’s the time when this guy is killing his victims.”

And in an instant, Copeland knew that his friend must be right. Lost in thought, he idly paged through the books when an unfamiliar highlighted section caught his eye. Looking at his watch and noticing the hour, he called it to his partner’s attention promptly, “Well, if that’s the case, Dan’s only got about two hours left to live.”

VII. Let Justice be Done, Though the Heavens Should Fall

Daniel Goldblum began his day in meetings, and by the time he left work on this Autumn Saturday, he was altogether disgusted by them. Stumbling out of the building at 6:00, he wondered if he could still catch Sportscenter back at his apartment. It was at this moment when he decided to take the opportunity to try out his latest acquisition, the black Porsche Boxster that reeked of his success. He sped past everyone on the highway the whole way home, grinning at the world, just as invincible as he felt. And it was good.

The man in the flowing robe smiled as he walked past the doorman, nodding slightly as he pulled the third leather volume out of his deep pocket. He pressed the button and waited briefly before putting the book in place and turning to write something on the elevator wall before starting to walk up the stairs, pausing for only a second to check his watch. 6:20, he was perfectly on time, this one would work out just as well as the others.

And outside as Goldblum parked, he took a moment to savor his freedom before parting with his new toy and pushing past the crowd outside his uptown apartment building. He nodded and greeted the doorman on his way in before walking past the lobby to the bank of elevators beyond. Just as he reached them, the elevator doors slid open to Goldblum’s surprise, and he chuckled to himself while he glanced at his watch. 6:22, still another hour of Sportscenter, and again he smiled as he tried to think how his life could possibly get any better.

Then, as he turned around, his eyes fell upon familiar numbers scribbled on the elevator wall and the book propped open on the elevator rail, and he took a moment to reconsider. And even without leaning forward, he could have recited the words by heart, but he found himself drawn to the highlighted passage, and he shivered as he read.

“My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths,
that they have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him innocency
was found in me; and also before thee, O king, have I done no hurt.”

The doors opened and Goldblum raised his eyes to a robed man pointing a pistol at him, and as the man began to chant in a low voice, Goldblum began to pray in earnest for the first time. The killer shook his head in disgust as he pulled the trigger, pausing only slightly to drop a bulky envelope on the elevator floor before turning and heading slowly towards the stairwell.

VIII. The Kingdom of God is Come Nigh Unto You

Waiting anxiously by the phone, at 6:37 Copeland finally received the news he’d been dreading for the past two hours. Another victim had been found, Daniel Goldblum, in the elevator of his apartment only minutes earlier. On his way to his car, Copeland stopped by Douglas’ office and learned that his partner had found another highlighted section in both bibles, John 3:16, near which was scribbled “I know it was you” in black ink, which they agreed seemed like a bizarre passage for their suspect. After giving him directions for the apartment building, Copeland walked outside to his car and began the drive.

And as he drove he thought of his father, and of all the questions he had to ask him; about the case, the cassette tapes, the confessions, and everything else they’d left unsaid for the past three years.

The case. He had to concentrate on the case for now; he reminded himself as he parked his car outside the apartments and walked past the nervous-looking doorman and into the lobby beyond. Heading past the police tape, Copeland quickly located the bank of elevators and began to walk towards them, already quite sure of what he would find.

Approaching the open elevator, Copeland didn’t see anything written on the walls and began to think that maybe the captain had been wrong about the connection between the murders. That thought quickly vanished when he reached the doors and saw the familiar script on the left wall, which read 6:22 this time, and glancing down he saw the bible resting on the railing, propped open to the Book of Daniel, Chapter 6, with a small highlighted passage. Sliding on his rubber gloves, Copeland knelt and picked up the bible and began to turn to the other sections, all three of which were also highlighted.

Shaking his head slowly, he turned his attention to the manila envelope lying next to the man’s body, opening it carefully under the fluorescence hum. A quick glance revealed another cassette tape and another sheet of paper, this time bearing the words “Fiat justitia, ruat Caelum”, along with the same signature. As Copeland rose, he considered the particulars of the case carefully. Three serial murders, one day, no apparent witnesses to any of them; no leads to draw on for any case, but maybe they’d come up with a print on one of the envelopes, maybe he’d been careless. He doubted it, as did Douglas when he raised the thought, and for a minute, Copeland thought he felt that familiar taste of failure in his mouth.

IX. Put Away the Evil of Your Doings from Before Mine Eyes

When Copeland next looked at the clock, it was 3:01, and he rubbed his eyes as he shut down his computer and left his office, no closer to any answers. But on the way to Douglas’ office, he smiled when he saw the lights still aglow and his partner still hard at work at his desk.

“Anything new, Mike?”

“Well, lab says they found a partial print on the third envelope, but they’re still running it through now, we should have results back in about 10 minutes or so, you gonna stick around?”

“No, I’m gonna go try to talk to my dad about some things if he’s still awake, and then I’m going to get some sleep. Leave me a message if you find out anything later on those prints. Can we do anything about this John guy?”

“No, we’ve got nothing to go on; we’ll have to wait it out and hope this print comes back with a positive ID.”

And later, walking out to his car in the nearly-empty lot, Copeland realized that he had no second thoughts about letting another guilty man die. Sitting in his car, he called his dad; intent on getting the air cleared as soon as possible, and was surprised when he picked up on the third ring. Copeland cleared his throat and tried to begin.

“Dad, it’s me. I need to talk to you; this thing between us has to end.”

”My son, it was not I who started this thing. I lost my job, my LIFE; and just so you could get a promotion and advance your career, that is sick.”

“Dad, I’m coming over, we need to talk”, Copeland said, and deftly hung up the phone before his father had a chance to reply.

Back at the station, Douglas got the results and called Copeland, as promised, at some point during a dead sprint to his car. Copeland ignored the vibration in his coat pocket as he drove, dismissing it as his father, and Douglas cursed loudly at the ringing phone as he jammed it in his pocket and screeched out of the parking lot.

X. The Corruption of the Best is the Worst of All

He prayed again as he kissed his crucifix and placed the last book on the table, his work would almost be complete; he had served his Lord well. He looked at his watch and nodded again as he sank into the shadows of the room and prayed in silence. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard a door and creaky footfalls as he slowly opened his eyes.

He waited in the darkness as he watched his victim pick up the open book on the table in confusion and read the highlighted passage again, and this time, the highlighted text made sense to him.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him
should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

John Copeland turned to see ‘3:16’ written on the wall behind him and his face turned pale as he read the text written in the margin again. From the shadows behind him, Copeland felt a firm pressure on his neck and as Hugh Copeland began to chant “Corruptio Optimi Pessima”; his son wondered how his father had found out.

Pulling the trigger for the fourth time, the man kissed his crucifix before turning to write “I shall have everlasting life” on the wall behind him. Copeland turned back around to the sound of pounding on the front door and a man’s muffled voice, and as Fidei Defensor looked at his pistol, he thought; and the world was silent.