The Serpent and the Crow

Book 3: Chapter Eight

Wade and Hank traversed through the shin-high flood that had accumulated within the cavernous tunnel. Ready for anything thrown their way. Wade remained in front of an elaborate archway that depicted a snake slithering around the edges. It ate its own tail. It did not look Native, perhaps the killer's contribution.

They dashed through the threshold and checked their corners. They were safe. The detectives lowered their weapons. Wade wondered what Hank was staring at. The walls of the cavern seemed to have widened in scope. Human effigies were surrounding the aisles. Effigies stuffed with straw, bound by their wrists and positioned as if in worship.

Wade examined one body. It was evident they had been dead for some time. Their skin had turned to leather. Someone sewed the seams up with hemp thread. Although there were clear signs of rot, the condition of the skin was intact. It turned out they slit them from their anus to the base of their necks.

They did not prepare a few of the dead in the proper manner. Their bodies were bloated and rotted through. The killer did not remove the organs that had turned to bile and gas. The bloated worshippers attracted swarms of flies. Feasting and laying eggs on the separated plasma that seeped through their eye sockets. If this was an externalisation of the killer's mind, then it could not be cured with risperidone.

Wade dry wrenched. The macabre diorama was more than they expected, and more than they could handle.

"Jesus, Christ. What do you suppose all this shit is about?"

"Fuck if I know, Hank."

"I've seen some shit in Nam. But, fuck. Old Hank has never seen this in his backyard."

"I spot something up ahead."

It was a staircase carved out of the cavern. It spiralled down to another antechamber. They heard chanting. Wade shared a look of concern with Hank, who reciprocated. The detectives stumbled upon a ceremony that was taking place within the deepest dungeon of these mines.

Wade knew that this was the temple where the killer came to pray. It had large pillar colonnades. Perhaps they used it as a refuge for miners, but they had converted it into a temple. It was a cathedral to long-forgotten God, built by the vilest of Solemn Pines.

A dozen men on their knees with their arms stretched out in worship. All of them wearing similar hessian hoods more appropriate to monks. They were singing, mumbling, and hissing. The haunting echoes of their voices seemed contained in this place. Wade recognized him.

Elmore Braithwaite stood as naked as the day he was born. He rested with his back towards Wade and Hank. He was at an altar. His arms outstretched as if on an imaginary crucifix. His white skin contrasted with the black tunnel before him. They bore it out with an enormous industrial drill, perhaps when the mines were active.

He had extensive tattoos of two snakes that intertwined with each other. Tattooed over old neo-Nazi runes. He was not only a formidable sized man. Elmer was in shape from the musculature from his thick neck to the oversized back muscles. Wade thought he was jacked. It was indisputable he had done sometime. Wade recognised homebrew ink they use in prison.

Halonie was in a trance-like state, dressed in simple ceremonial clothing.

"Freeze," Shouted Hank.

Fuck, Wade had wished Hank did not do that. They outnumbered the detectives. But these people were a lot more dedicated and crazier than they were. The chanting stopped in unison and an eerie silence ensued, followed by the sound of running water splashing about around the caves. The worshippers did not even move to receive the detectives. Neither did Elmer.