3:16 Read online

  Picking up his son, he turned towards the exit, but before he had completed his first step, a searing pain shot through the center of his back. Brandon fell to his knee, as Ryan was catapulted from his grasp and landed on the floor. Brandon grabbed at his back, but that feeling was replaced with another white hot sensation. This time it came from the right side of his neck. What is happening? His stomach started to churn, and he was nauseated as state of conscious started to fade. Brandon fell on his side. A river of blood surrounded him as the pale and broken face of Donovan Petrie came into view.

  “Hurts a little, huh? Those were my best knives.” Donovan removed something from around his torso. He limped over to where Brandon was and looked down where Brandon had shot him. Fuck. Blood had completely saturated the front of his clothes. He was becoming weaker at an alarming rate and soon would join the ranks of the dead. He dangled the bulletproof vest right in front of Brandon before he catapulted it among the debris. “Didn’t count on that, did you?”

  No, but soon it won’t matter. Brandon winced. He tried to speak, but blood oozed out instead, and his words were garbled.

  Donovan collapsed on the ground next to him. He stared at Brandon as his breathing started to fade. Brandon used all of his strength to crawl towards his son, to see his face for one last time, but he was too tired, and the blackness started to take him. Too far away. He struggled with his coat pocket but was able to wriggle out a small red envelope. He flipped it in his son’s direction. Brandon exhaled one more time before the darkness engulfed him, and his journey in this world was complete…

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  This is where Brandon Thornley has to be. Patrick Morgan hit the steering wheel as he pulled his unmarked behind the snow covered Caprice. Tell me that’s not who I think it is. He exited the car and approached the vehicle. He cleared the snow off the rear license plate. The personalized plate of Donovan Petrie stared him dead in the face. Patrick knew the man was on Brandon Thornley’s payroll, but it didn’t explain why he would be here. Patrick clicked a button on his portable radio.

  “Morgan to Officer Peyton.”

  “Peyton here, sir,” a woman’s voice said.

  Patrick aimed his flashlight in the direction of the church. “I have an abandoned late model Caprice across from the church. You locate the Mercedes yet?”

  “Sir, it’s parked on the gravel road adjacent to the property.” A loud squelch interrupted the transmission. “Nobody in the vicinity, sir, but I have a set of footprints heading into the woods.

  Into the woods? “Take Officer Hanigan with you, and check on it, but be careful. The suspect is to be considered armed and dangerous.”

  “10-4, sir. We’ll advise.”

  Patrick scanned the ground. A fresh coat of snow, was blanketing the earth, so if Donovan Petrie had come this way, it would have been before the storm. Only one way to find out. He lumbered his way through mound after mound. When Patrick was about fifty feet from the church entrance, his portable radio came to life.

  “Peyton to Morgan.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, we followed the prints to an old mausoleum. There appears to be some sort of tunnel here.”

  Footprints going in, but none going out? They led somewhere. “Gotcha. Stay at the exterior of the mausoleum. Don’t wander into the tunnel. I have no idea where it goes. You understand?”

  A few seconds passed before Officer Peyton said anything. “Roger. We will secure the area.” Her voice seemed to deflate.

  “10-4. I’m in front of the north entrance. I’ll keep you posted, if I locate anyone.”

  “10-4.” The radio went silent.

  Patrick tightened his grip on his firearm. As he approached the door, chills swept through his body in such a way that he almost had second thoughts about stepping inside. Christmas Eve heebie jeebies. Patrick took a deep breath. He grabbed the iron handle and pulled at the door. It creaked open to reveal the interior foyer of the sanctuary. A set of stained glass double doors was directly in his path. He scanned to the left and recalled the staircase he had accessed when responding to the Jamie Brooks homicide. Glancing to the right, he saw several boxes were stacked in front of the remnants of the church pastor’s administrative offices. The amount of rubble and trash that had fallen on top of them told Patrick the killer wasn’t planning an ambush from there.

  Patrick cautiously approached the sanctuary doors; he made sure to stay out of the direct path of anyone waiting to attack him as he entered. His pulse quickened with each step. Patrick positioned his shoulder against the door as he eased it open.

  The interior was dark except for two small flickering lights coming from the front of the room. Not fucking candles again. He clicked on his tactical light and aimed it toward the dancing lights. What the hell? Patrick almost dropped the flashlight as he stopped dead in his tracks. Oh my God, not all of them.

  The body of Caprice owner, Donovan Petrie, was the first one Patrick saw. It appeared from the small wounds in his stomach, he had been the victim of two gunshot wounds. He was outstretched on the ground, and it appeared there was something in his right hand. Patrick moved in a little closer and realized it was a heavy duty kitchen knife. Patrick gazed at it. Just like the one at the scene of Jamie Brook’s death. Patrick walked a few more steps as he gripped the gun even tighter. The next body belonged to the Holiday Murders latest prime suspect. Brandon Thornley was approximately ten feet away. He was face down, a pool of blood surrounding him. There were two large knives plunged into him, with only the handle blades visible. Bastard got what he deserved.

  Patrick closed his eyes at what he saw next. A partially clothed young boy, close to ten years in age, was just a few feet from Brandon. This is his son. The boy was on his side and was facing away from his father. The flesh around his wrists and feet were torn, and it appeared blood was still seeping from the wounds. Still alive? Patrick rushed to his side. He bent down and listened for signs of life. Patrick ripped off his jacket and wrapped up the boy’s bleeding feet.

  He reached for his radio. “Detective Morgan to dispatch.”

  “Dispatch here, sir,” A young male answered.

  “I need an ambulance sent to United Ministries Church. One male youth severely injured.”

  “Inside the abandoned church, sir?” the man asked.

  “10-4. Yes, inside it, dispatch.”

  “Um…roger that, Detective. A unit will be routed to your location.”

  Patrick turned and looked at the two bodies. “10-4. Also, I need the Medical Examiner for two DOAs.” So, Donovan Petrie kidnapped Thornley’s son…but why? The kid has the same injuries as our other victims. That doesn’t make any sense. Unless…

  A short pause ensued before the dispatcher returned to the radio. “Understood, sir. Will advise when M.E. is on their way.”

  “10-4.” Patrick reached down and tucked the coat that covered the boy tightly around him. He radioed Officer Peyton to assist with securing the scene, and soon after, she and Officer Hanigan were there leading ambulance personnel to his location. Patrick stood up as the paramedics took over. When they removed the coat from around Ryan Thornley, a red envelope fluttered to the floor. Patrick scooped it up. He squinted to read the writing on the front.

  For Ryan, my son.

  He watched as the paramedics rolled the young Thornley away from the crime scene. Patrick stared at the envelope for the longest time until he realized that whatever was inside may hold answers that would help him understand. He tore open the seal to a reveal a Christmas card. There wasn’t any writing on the front, the way most usually had. There was just a warm scene involving a father and his son. Smiles covered their faces as they stood in front of a snowman. What endeared the picture the most was the way both of them had a hold of the black top hat as they worked together to finish their winter creation. Patrick flipped open the card and read.

  Dear Ryan,

  I’m sorry for everything I have done. I have hurt many pe
ople in my life, but you’re the last one I ever wanted my evil hand to touch. Go to Grandpa’s grave. They are there…bodies of people I hurt. Tell Mom and your brother I love them. I do love you, son, and will always.

  Dad

  Patrick reread the third line. More victims of his madness? He put the card back inside the envelope, glaring at Brandon Thornley’s corpse. You won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.

  Patrick tapped a number on his cell. “Hey, it’s me…Brandon Thornley and Donovan Petrie are both dead.”

  “Donvan Petrie? The guy you were so hyped up about for the Azure Sutaki murder?” Commander Cromartie asked.

  “Yes…him. Looks like Petrie kidnapped Thornley’s kid, but don’t know why…we may never know.”

  “How’s the boy?”

  Patrick sighed. “Touch and go. He has injuries similar to the ones on all of our victims. Nailed feet and barb wired wrists.”

  Cromartie coughed. “Thornley did that to his son?”

  “No, looks like Petrie snatched the kid and did this—”

  “Wait a minute…Petrie wouldn’t know about those murders, or how they were carried out, unless he had something to do with them—holy shit!” Cromartie’s voice cracked.

  “Right, I think that’s our answer. Commander, if you’re still with Mrs. Thornley, I need you to ask her something.” Patrick explained what he was looking for; a few minutes later, he was out the door and on his way to uncover Brandon Thornley’s final secret.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The illumination of red and blue bounced off the snowy surroundings as the patrol units surrounded the hidden graveyard. Patrick Morgan stopped at the mausoleum Officer Peyton had found. Maybe this is his grave. Patrick grabbed a knife and cut away the winter foliage that was covering the nameplate. Damn, this isn’t him. He repeated this at three more similar structures; each failed to reveal the name he was looking for. He trounced through the pine trees, looking for anything resembling a headstone. Patrick walked several feet before he saw the outline of a dark grave marker. He bent down and brushed off enough snow to read the name. Patrick slammed his hand against the ice.

  “Where are you?” Patrick shook his head and noticed the large frame of Commander Cromartie push through the pine trees.

  “Nothing, I take it?” Cromartie stared at Patrick snow covered glove. “You’ll break your hand if you keep doing that.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the tip. No, we haven’t found anything at all.” Patrick sighed. “You would think it should be close.”

  Cromartie folded his arms. “Thornley’s wife said it was away from the other graves…so it’s here somewhere.”

  Where? Patrick frowned. “That’s all she told you?”

  Cromartie shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s it…oh, I heard the boy is going to pull through.”

  Finally good news. “I wasn’t sure.” Patrick moved to the next headstone. While he was clearing the snow away, his portable radio screeched. “Officer Peyton to Detective Morgan.”

  Patrick eyed his supervisor. “Go ahead, Peyton.”

  “Sir, I think I may found something.”

  “Where are you?” Patrick clicked the transmit button.

  “Another set of pine trees, about three-hundred feet ahead of you.”

  “10-4. We should be there in a minute.”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  Patrick and Cromartie fought their way through a maze of drifting snow banks. They spotted Officer Peyton at the edge of a small hill.

  She motioned for them. “I think this is him.”

  Patrick rushed to her side. When he first saw the partially broken headstone, he figured it was just another failure. But as he drew nearer, a feeling of satisfaction came over him. The stone was very simplistic as it was only a portion of the size of most he had discovered up to this point.

  Cromartie tapped him on the shoulder. “This him?”

  Patrick and Officer Peyton cleared away the snow. He nodded, as he gazed at what had been written.

  Gregory Brandon Thornley

  April 19 1954 - Dec 21 1994

  The Verse Gregory Lived By.

  John 3:16

  Patrick kicked at the ground. “The bodies are here.”

  Cromartie raised a brow. “What a freak…the same place as his father.”

  “His own sadistic way to honor the man.” Patrick motioned for Cromartie to follow him, out of earshot of Officer Peyton. He pulled out the red envelope and held it out to his supervisor. “Here’s what I told you about on the phone.”

  Cromartie was hesitant to receive it at first but finally grabbed the thin cardboard. He flipped it open, his hand covered his mouth as he finished reading. “How many do you think are down there?” Cromartie’s eyes widened as he turned and gawked at the ground. It was like he was waiting for the devil himself to rip him away from the living and pull him into Brandon Thornley’s lair of doom.

  Patrick turned to see the County Medical Examiner walking towards them. He sighed. “We’re about to find out…even if we don’t want to…”

  * * *

  The hallways of New Haven Children’s Center were vacant, except for the occasional nurse who traveled from call light to call light, tending to the needs of the bedridden. Detective Patrick Morgan stopped at the information desk. One staff member was packing up the Christmas decorations, while the other appeared to be engrossed in the daily paper. Patrick stood there for several seconds until the gray haired woman inadvertently glanced up.

  “Oh, sorry, just reading about those horrible killings. A tragedy, indeed.”

  To be exact…there were twenty-two tragedies, and of course, Collin Glover was the first one found…all created by Brandon Thornley and Donovan Petrie…

  She stuffed the paper under a stack of medical charts. “How may I help you, sir?”

  Patrick smiled. He reached into his coat and removed a red envelope “I’m Patrick Morgan. I just wanted to give something to Ryan Thornley…if he can have visitors?”

  The woman’s eyes fixated on the envelope. “Are you immediate family?”

  “No.” He flashed the detective badge. “I’m a friend.”

  She eyed him with suspicion. ”You’re the one that found him?”

  “Yes…maybe I should go…” Patrick turned away.

  “No, you’re a hero to that boy. You may see him, but promise me it’s only going to be a few minutes?”

  Patrick smiled. “I promise.”

  She pointed towards the hallway. “He’s down the hall in room 316.”

  My favorite number lately. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

  Patrick walked down the hall until he was at the edge of Ryan’s hospital room. Patrick tapped at the door before he walked in. “Hello, Ryan. I’m Patrick.”

  Ryan was on his side facing the opposite direction. He was staring at the small LCD screen, appearing to have all his energy focused on the cartoon figures coming from the screen.

  Patrick grinned. Everybody likes SpongeBob. He moved closer and this time waved at the young boy. “Hi. You like that show?”

  Ryan turned towards him with a sad look. “Dad and I used to watch it together.”

  The devoted serial killer father. Patrick nodded. “Ryan, do you remember me?”

  “You found me at grandpa’s church.” Ryan forced a smile.

  “I did. Ryan, I’m not going to ask you anything about what happened until you’re ready…okay?”

  “I would like that…” He turned back to the T.V. “Mom was here. All she did was cry the whole time.”

  I don’t blame her. Patrick pulled a cushioned chair next to the bed. “Ryan, I found something your dad left at the church.”

  Ryan scooted up in the bed as a deep smile crossed his face. “Really?”

  Patrick handed him the red envelope. “Looks like a card.”

  The boy ripped it open; pieces of red littered the floor. He stared at the outside for the longest ti
me before he gently opened it. Ryan’s face beamed with happiness, which given the ordeal he had experienced, was a positive sign he would resume a somewhat normal life. Ryan held it out to Patrick. “See what Dad wrote me?”

  Son, he didn’t write it. Patrick reached out for it. The card’s exterior was the exact replica of what Brandon had left Ryan at the church. Patrick smiled as he gazed down at the warm scene involving a father and his son. The same smiles were covering their faces as they again stood in front of a snowman. But for him, Patrick never got tired of seeing the way both of them had a hold of the black top hat, working together to finish their winter creation. He flipped open the card as he read.

  Dear Ryan,

  You are my pride and joy. Son, I love you with all of my heart. I look at the picture on the front and see us instead. Merry Christmas…

  Dad

  He handed the card back to Ryan. The boy clutched it to his chest, knowing this was all that was left of his father. Patrick waved as he left the room and started back down the hallway. In time, Ryan Thornley would want to talk about what had happened, and Patrick would be there to help him sort it out.

  Patrick exited the hospital. He reached to unlock the patrol car when something across the street caught his eye. A shabbily dressed older man was standing on the corner, holding a sign above his head. The sun’s glare caused him to squint as he tried to read what it said. Not again.

  Patrick walked across the street towards where the man was standing. The older man chuckled when he saw him approach. “Hello, sir. What do you think of my sign?”

  “Tell you the truth…I keep seeing this everywhere I go lately.” True indeed.

  The man put down the sign. “Ah…sounds like someone is trying to tell you something.”

  Patrick shook his head. “You might be right.”