Logic of Demons: The Quest for Nadine's Soul

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 1

He couldn’t stop staring at the ultrasound image. In it was his entire reason for living. All his future hopes and dreams floated there with the baby, so safe and secure, curled so adorably in the fetal pose of an unborn child. Looking at the dark space surrounding the fetus, he felt a sudden shiver spread through him, realizing how in love he was with the womb, the baby’s sanctuary within his beloved Bridget. The seeds of love had been planted ten years ago, in middle school, when both Devin and Bridget had poked endless fun at each other’s braces. He smiled, thinking that just three weeks ago he had finished painting the baby’s room pale blue, the same color that Bridget had carefully chosen for Devin Jr. The longer he stared at the sonogram in his trembling hand, the more he pretended things were right.

Devin, said Mrs. O’Connell, gently grasping his arm. Please, my boy, please put that away. We know how much you loved our daughter. She gazed at him with the compassion of a grieving mother, yet she’d become worried for her son-in-law’s sanity. Could he survive the trauma of this tragedy?

Devin raised eyes brimming with tears to hers and slipped the ultrasound image back into the pocket of his wool overcoat.

It was a cold, overcast day, the kind that could make people depressed even in the absence of tragedy. This gloomy morning sucked the life out of the grass carpet and stately trees of the burial grounds. The cemetery was desolate aside from a cluster of mourners standing near a freshly dug grave. The love of Devin’s life awaited burial in a white coffin. Two groundskeepers from the funeral home stood nearby, awaiting the signal to lower the casket. But first, the priest had to conclude the traditional rites of burial.

God, our Father, your power brings us into the world, your providence guides our lives, and by your command we return to dust, intoned the priest standing beside the grave and the thirty-odd mourners. Devin couldn’t help but sense something like hypocrisy in the words. Did God even allow the baby in the sonogram to be brought into the world? No, he thought.

There was no comfort in the priest’s words for the weeping man in a dark suit and black overcoat. Devin was Jewish, but it wasn’t a religious thing to him. Priests and rabbis were all the same—they all spoke to a force that could not be seen or heard, a great, unimaginable being believed to protect the humans he created.

Despite their different backgrounds, he and Bridget had shared a similar philosophy on life. Their love for each other served as the basis for their spirituality. They even shared the same concept of an afterlife. Both believed that life after death existed, but neither knew exactly what kind of world awaited them. Bridget would jokingly assure Devin that she’d be his guardian angel if something were ever to happen to her.

Lord, those who die still live in your presence; their lives change but do not end, continued the priest.

Devin definitely did not feel his wife’s presence this morning, and her absence filled his heart with anguish. Like the words in the Catholic burial prayer, life had changed but had not yet ended. Although these words were meant for the deceased, they were a source of angst for Devin. He felt he was in the presence of an incompetent shepherd, the same Lord above who had allowed a pregnant woman to be raped and murdered by a homeless drug addict.

May they rejoice in your Kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. The priest was almost finished. All Devin had today were his own shaking hands to wipe the tears off his face.

Gentleman, please lower the casket. The priest gestured respectfully toward the two uniformed Latino groundskeepers. They began turning a wheel that lowered Bridget’s coffin into the ground. Devin rushed frantically toward the edge of the grave, as if to assure that Bridget wasn’t being harmed in any way.

Son, said Mr. O’Connell, leaving his wife’s side and the rest of the mourners surrounding them. He came beside Devin and put one arm securely around his shoulders. It’s okay. She’s fine. Together, they stared into the deep hole in the ground, witnessing part of their souls being buried. The two most important men in Bridget’s life looked down into her final resting place. Separated from the other mourners, Mr. O’Connell held the son he’d always wanted as the casket was released into the Earth.

My life is over, Roger. Devin turned toward the older man with hollowness in his voice.

Mr. O’Connell’s eyes widened, but not entirely because of the young man’s statement. Rather, it was the first time Devin had ever called him by his first name. This sudden change of protocol caught the older man off guard, yet it was completely understandable given the circumstances. Devin was changing and everyone knew it.

Bridget wouldn’t want that for you, said Mr. O’Connell as resolutely as he could with tears streaming down his face. You must continue living to honor Bridget now.

Looking at the man 40 years his senior, Devin didn’t want to make this situation any harder than it already was. Yes sir, I know, he said, and I will. Devin had found that the best way he could deflect the noble attempts of others at consoling his grief was to simply agree with every expression of sympathy uttered to him. Inside himself, however, he would continue raging and replaying the heinousness of Bridget’s murder over and over again.

With the casket fully lowered into the grave, the workers dug their shovels into fresh mounds of dirt to begin filling the grave with soil, signaling the end of the funeral. Sensing the ceremony was over, mourners who gathered to pay their respects turned away and headed toward their cars. So too did the priest who had done his duty and those whose eulogies had already been performed. The group of Bridget’s friends and family decided it was time to head with Mrs. O’Connell to the reception at the O’Connell residence. Devin stood motionless, staring at the grave.

It’s time to go now, Devin, said Mr. O’Connell. Let’s go, son. There’s nothing left for us to do.

For Devin, though, it wasn’t over. I want to pick up that shovel over there and start helping these men bury Bridget. That’s what usually happens at Jewish funerals, sir, he said, pointing at two shovels lying on the ground ten feet away from the workers. It was standard practice for the groundskeepers to bring extra shovels in case mourners wanted to share in the work.

Alright, son, whatever will help you feel better, replied Mr. O’Connell, pressing his lips together and trying to hold in the tears. Looking back at his wife, he let the others know that he’d be meeting them in a little bit. Martha, I’m going to be here with Devin for a little while. We’ll meet you at the house. Mrs. O’Connell nodded and then turned back with the rest of their friends and family. The group was walking toward a caravan of cars parked 40 yards away on a little street leading to the cemetery exit.

As he and Bridget’s father shoveled soil onto the casket alongside the groundskeepers, Devin couldn’t help but express some of his newly minted philosophy on life.

Isn’t it a shame there isn’t justice in this world? he asked, gritting his teeth as he plunged his shovel into loose soil. Devin put all 5’10", 180 pounds of his body into heaving soil into the grave.

There will be justice, Devin, said Mr. O’Connell sternly. Eventually, people get what they deserve. Resting his shovel, he took a step toward Devin, and placed one hand on the young man’s shoulder. I know what’s consuming you. I’ve seen it before—with my men in Vietnam. You know my stories. I’ve seen good men die horribly before my eyes. I’ve seen their buddies wanting revenge but they would never get the solace they were looking for by killing the enemy. It only made their loss worse. Facing Devin now, he declared, That son of a bitch is going to be found sooner or later. Mark my words. The ex-Marine platoon leader then reached for his shovel to work alongside his son-in-law.

But if he’s found, he won’t pay with his life. New York doesn’t have the death penalty, moaned Devin, glancing at the older man’s white hair wafting in the wind. He’ll get to live his entire life with food that you and I pay for. The bastard will get to watch TV. He’ll still get to live and…

I want him dead too, Devin, interrupted Mr. O’Connell. You don’t think I want to strangle him with my bare hands? You don’t think I want to slash his throat for what he did to me? What he did to you? The wind was picking up and it would rain in no time. The gravesite was almost completely covered now.

Of course I do, Roger, Devin responded, laying down his shovel. But the police photo of the suspect has him smiling. Can you believe that? And Bridget was the third pregnant woman he’s killed in two months. What happens if he continues breathing? More women and babies die, that’s what. The longer his heart beats, the more everyone else is in danger. Devin was showing a side of himself few in the O’Connell family had ever seen. His pale, boyish face grew red with anger.

I agree, son. I agree, said Mr. O’Connell. But his life is as good as done. Either the heroin he’s addicted to will kill him or some drug dealer will do it. Earl Ray is a wanted man in Rochester, and there aren’t that many people here to begin with. That monster will get what’s coming to him.

Yes, it would be nice to see him truly pay for what he did to us, murmured Devin. He doesn’t even deserve a trial—the DNA samples at all the crime scenes point to him. He’s been in and out of prison all his life. The only reason he’s on the loose is that he escaped from a police car.

Son, you’re right. But I’m telling you he will get what’s coming to him. Most likely in this life, but without a doubt in the next world, said Mr. O’Connell. He looked straight into Devin’s once vibrant and now lifeless brown eyes. Martha’s worried about you, Devin, and so am I. You’ve always had a young face, but you’ve aged too much in the past weeks. This nightmare seems to be changing you. We know Bridget was your life. She was ours too. But she wouldn’t want you becoming a different person because of all this.

Devin wanted to change the subject. I always loved Bridget’s apple pie, he mumbled.

I know. It was even better than her mother’s. Mr. O’Connell then threw the shovel down and grabbed Devin tightly with both arms. It was the bear hug of a man who had experienced many things through war and business, but nothing as painful as this moment. The two men embraced like father and son. They stood sobbing and holding on to one another for several minutes before heading back in Devin’s car to the funeral reception. It was going to be a long day for both of them.

They drove in silence.

Chapter 2

More people had showed up to the reception than to the funeral, so finding parking was difficult. Devin eventually found a space and was about to get out of the car when Mr. O’Connell gently took his hand.

You remember when you started your contracting business several years ago?

Yes, said Devin.

Remember Bridget saying she would get you something special when you had the business up and running?

I do, whispered Devin, tears welling up in his eyes again.

I wanted to give you this in the house, but I think you might need it now, said Mr. O’Connell as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box.

What is it, Mr. O’Connell? asked Devin. For a second he felt Bridget’s presence. Then the feeling was gone.

Open it up, son.

Devin looked at the small velvet box in his hands. It was the type of package a department store uses for jewelry. Opening it up, he saw a small silver heart resting on satin lining.

Now open the locket, said Mr. O’Connell.

Devin did as requested and found a picture on each side of the opened heart-shaped locket. On the left was a picture of Devin smiling from his Bar Mitzvah, and, on the right side, Bridget’s eighth grade yearbook photo. Devin stared at her sweet, smiling 13-year-old face in amazement. It had been so long since he’d seen a picture of her at that age. He thought Bridget had thrown away all the pictures of her with braces. He had to smile at this priceless treasure.

Thank you, Mr. O’Connell. Thanks for giving this to me.

I thought it might remind you of better days, Devin. I remember when you two met. When your parents moved to our street, that’s when it all started. Bridget saw you fall off your skateboard and the two of you have been inseparable ever since. You two were special. He paused. I know the sorrow is excruciating, but you can’t let your emotions affect your actions. Everything we do has consequences. Many are unintended. Don’t do anything that might keep you from ever seeing her again.

What do you mean? Devin was staring past the locket now, at nothing.

We all make decisions in this life, Devin. These decisions have millions of unintended consequences. Our actions affect so many people in this world as well as those who love us in the afterlife. I know you’re not very religious. But what I’m saying is a philosophy shared by Judaism as well. Catholicism, Judaism, Islam and every religion on the planet hold the same precepts sacred. This life we lead is the first act of a very long play. In a way, it’s the beginning of a journey that extends far beyond this world. Don’t do anything that might make this story end badly for you. Control yourself and think of Bridget, not of your anger.

Yes sir. I understand. Thank you. mumbled Devin, holding back tears.

Good, now let’s go inside. Mr. O’Connell opened the passenger door to get out.

Devin couldn’t move. He couldn’t stop staring at the locket. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, sir. I just want to savor these memories a little longer.

Take your time. I’ll see you inside. As he shut the door, Mr. O’Connell stared at his son-in-law for several seconds beside the car. Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the house and prepared to greet friends awaiting him inside.

Running his fingers over and over through his black hair, Devin let his emotions run amok as he sat in the car staring at the opened jewelry box on his lap. Finally taking the locket and opening it with his fingertips, he took a closer look at the pictures. Powerful memories of better days gave him a few brief seconds of calm until the aggravating, ceaseless replay of Bridget’s death began to dominate his thoughts anew.

Visions of how these heinous acts might have transpired tormented Devin’s imagination. Images of his wife screaming in pain as her attacker violated her tore away at his soul. I am her husband and I should have been there to protect her, thought Devin.

The anguish never stopped. Looking at the locket, however, was one of the few moments where he could hit the pause button on the never-ending trauma.

Examining the locket again, he felt a rough texture on the back. He turned it over and found an inscription: I love you Devin.

Bridget had indeed really loved him. They had been soul mates. The pain of losing her, their baby, their future was too profound for Devin to bear. Reading those words reminded him of the life he would never be able to enjoy. He screamed out in frustration, yelling obscenities, and pounded the steering wheel.

Taking out his cell phone, Devin rang up the one person he could confide in wholeheartedly nowadays. It wasn’t a friend or confidant, just someone who also had an interest in finding the fugitive. He heard ringing.

Yeah, said a gravelly voice.

It’s Devin.

You told me it was going down three days from now, man, complained the baritone voice on the other end of the line.

Just tell me where he is, Jose. I’ll do it myself tonight. I’m done with this. I can’t get any rest. I can’t get any peace. I’m dying here, man. He found himself opening up to one of the biggest drug dealers in the city. Devin was supposed to wait several days after the funeral before tracking down Earl Ray, but now he couldn’t wait any longer.

Yo, how I know you ain’t a cop, white boy? demanded Jose in a heavy New York accent.

Because I already gave you $5,000 to find out who this bastard is. Devin was irritated. And you don’t ever have to see me again. Just tell me where he’s going to be tonight and I’ll do your job for you. My wife’s murderer gets justice and you don’t have anyone giving you any more problems. You told me he was hitting up your workers on the street for heroin, didn’t you? Think about it, Jose. You get some guy with no criminal background helping you out. I want him dead a lot more than you do. Devin was not a bad salesman when he wanted to be.

He’s on the local news too much, kid. The second your weak ass gets questioned by the cops, my name’s the first thing coming out your mouth. I’ll do it like I promised. You just give me the rest of my ten thousand by tomorrow, said Jose.

Devin was ballistic now. The pain was unbearable. He wanted revenge today. Look, you give me his location tonight and I’ll give you an extra two thousand tomorrow, Jose. That’s $12,000. It’s all I can give man, that’s all I have. That bastard killed my wife and child, Jose. Devin couldn’t control his emotions. He started sobbing on the phone and punching the steering wheel again. You know where I live. I have no reason to screw you. No reason at all. I don’t sell drugs, man. This isn’t about some fucking drug deal. I don’t care about anything but killing that bastard for what he did to my life. Please, have a heart and tell me where he is. I’m not going to wait there for the cops. I’m not an idiot. Devin poured all his hurt into begging Jose for more information.

Taking a couple of moments to weigh his options, Jose decided he could trust this pitiful, grieving widower. Yeah, cool. Listen, it’s fucked up what he did to you. Honest, I ain’t sure exactly where that punk is going to be tonight, but last I heard he was at the Lorraine Motel on Parkview Ave. One of my girls told me she saw him there two nights ago. Changing his tone of voice, Jose wanted to make sure he didn’t just do the wrong thing by disclosing too much information. Yo, you better not mess this up, kid. It’s not like you a frickin’ pro at this. How you plan on killing this guy anyway?

I promise I’ll take care of it, Jose, said Devin. No guns, no noise, I’ll be out of there without anyone noticing.

Jose began chuckling. You crazy, man. I like that, he said, amused by the fact he had a person far different from him talking like a stone-cold killer. Just don’t mess this up ‘cause then you’ll have me to deal with.

Like I said, this guy is stealing your heroin. I’ll be doing you a favor. You can’t kill him now because he’s on the news all the time and the cops will be on your ass. I’ll do the job for you and you get paid. It’s a win-win for you, said Devin, wiping the sweat and tears from his face with the sleeve of his overcoat.

Remaining quiet on the other end for several seconds, the deep voice finally responded. Yeah, cool. Good luck. Call me when you do it, said Jose. The drug dealer then hung up the phone.

Devin pulled away from the curb near the O’Connell residence and headed to the house that he and Bridget had bought nearby. Speeding past the small, neatly manicured lawns of suburban homes in his neighborhood, Devin became ever more obsessed with vengeance. Racing in through the front door, he rushed to the bedroom. Hardly able to breathe, he wondered if he was headed toward a heart attack. The mania of his impulsiveness had drained him of energy and was causing his body to break down. At the foot of his bed he crumpled clumsily to the floor. Could he reassess the situation? As he clamored up to sit on the bed, his stony eyes scanned the room, stopping at the wedding pictures and family photos on the dresser.

What the hell am I doing?

Nobody was in the room with him, but he heard a response that reverberated throughout his soul.

You’re doing the right thing.

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, Devin shot back reflexively. The O’Connells won’t be happy about this. And my parents will probably find some sick way to blame Bridget. It would be the first time I end someone’s life. I’ve never before imagined killing a person. The last time Devin even got into a physical altercation was in the tenth grade.

I doubt he’ll be missed at anyone’s Christmas dinner this year, Devin, said the voice sarcastically. Listen, Earl Ray is not a person like Mr. O’Connell or you. He’s scum. Getting rid of him isn’t immoral. He has raped and murdered pregnant women, for God’s sake. Who’s going to find out you killed this monster anyway? Do it right and nobody knows. You really want him in court so you can see his ugly face smiling at you in an orange jumpsuit? The voice was tweaking Devin’s weak spots.

No, I don’t, said Devin, looking at the locket he’d brought in with him from the car. But what if I never see Bridget again because of my actions?

Right… you end the life of a serial killer and God’s going to punish you by not letting you see Bridget? Are you kidding? Does that make any sense at all? You rejected the words coming out of the priest’s mouth today because God wasn’t there to protect her and your child. Now you have to make sure he doesn’t do that to another family. The longer you put faith in superstition, the longer this man has to destroy other’s lives. The voice was making sense. Killing Earl Ray could prevent another tragedy like this from taking place. The voice was bolstering his resolve.

Then, as if his more rational side managed to circumvent the stupor of rage and confusion that devoured him, a new circumstance emerged. It emanated from utter fatigue with the chaos in his psyche. The fatigue tied itself on to his childhood malady. Devin felt a dizzying shortness of breath; then came severe coughing: he feared an asthma attack. Staggering to the armoire at the other side of the room, he grabbed an inhaler and took a slow, deep breath. Now he knew clearly that a part of him truly feared his potential foray into the world of murder. His physical self was affected by the turmoil. Even his stomach ulcer was acting up: a sharp pain within his belly made him cringe in agony.

Perhaps Mr. O’Connell was right, he told himself. Maybe simply