VI. Earthly Remains

The setting sun framed the site of Hosanna of Bethany Church. The empty sign out front had "Went here K-4 You let us down" spray-painted on it.

A lone car pulled up to the yellow crime scene tape surrounding the building and two men got out. The taller of the two lit a cigarette as they approached the tape.

"So, this is the place." said Briggs. It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"None other. Come on, I want to get this over with." said Findhorn, ducking under the tape.

Briggs hesitated. "Look, there are some...rules I have to follow. Just...invite me in."

Findhorn shook his head. "Look, this crime scene is two months cold. No cop in New Liberty is going to bother you for exploring it in the presence of a senior detective."

"It's not that...it's just, well, you know. Places like this...they deserve a certain amount of...respect. I'd really appreciate it if you'd invite me in."

Findhorn sighed. "Fine. I invite you to accompany me to this crime scene. No can we get on with this?"

"Invitation accepted." said Briggs. He climbed under the tape, holding his breath as if bracing for impact. He stood on the lawn for a moment, then let it out.

"Oh, and put that out." said Findhorn, gesturing to Briggs' cigarette. "No smoking on enclosed crime scenes."

"As you wish." Briggs flipped the cigarette onto the pavement beyond the car.

Findhorn noticed Briggs tense up as they walked inside, then let out another sigh of relief.

The foyer of Hosanna of Bethany looked normal enough. Briggs' hand went to his forehead once Findhorn had shut the door behind them.

"The altar. Where's the altar?" he asked.

"This way." Findhorn led Briggs through a pair of wooden door into what had once been the sanctuary.

The pews remained, but pentagrams had been carved into them. The edges of a mural were visible on the ceiling, beyond the edges of the numerous swathes of red paint that had been applied over it. The altar itself had been torn from its foundation behind the stained glass window at the far side of the sanctuary. It now sat at the center of the room, blocking the aisle. It had been turned to face away from the sanctuary doors, and a pewter pentagram a foot across sat at its center.

"No." said Briggs. "This is wrong."

Findhorn scoffed, looking around. "No kidding."

"No, I mean this is wrong for worship of the Devil. Altars of Christ face East, but there's no doctrine for which ways altars of Satan have to face, so it doesn't make sense to go to the effort of moving the altar. They wouldn't use pews, either; they kneel during their ceremonies. But the big thing is that Satani don't use this as a holy symbol!" Briggs knocked the pentagram on the altar over.

"I thought Satanists used pentagrams like a cross." said Findhorn.

Briggs blinked at Findhorn, then shook his head. "Satanists and Satani are not the same thing."

Findhorn simply looked perplexed. Briggs turned to face him.

"Look, during the 20th century, some guy--called himself Anton LaVey--founded a lifestyle called Satanism. Satanism is so named because its dogma is the opposite of Christianity--it emphasizes holding the self above all others, being completely selfish at every opportunity and never giving a care about the plight of others, versus the selflessness and subservience to Christ that Christians preach. He chose the name Satanism mostly to piss off the Christians of the day.

"Satanists use the pentagram as their symbol, but it's Pagan in origin. Popular culture likes to think that it's the symbol of the Devil, but religiously speaking, these," Briggs gestured to the overturned pentragram, "are about as significant as a men's room sign."

Briggs began to pace while he spoke. "Satani, on the other hand, have been around for millenia. They're normal, everyday people except when they pray. They're the ones who worship the Devil. Human and animal sacrifice, ritualistic abuse, you name it. A Satani sermon is always brutal. Their holy symbol is an inverted cross, not a pentragram. From what you told me about that tape, Carter and his lackeys were Satani."

"That tape showed them molested right here." said Findhorn.

"Then it was a ruse. Satani rituals are between them and their master; there's no need to leave records of their deeds behind. I think this whole thing was planned, was a sham. They kept updating the camera so it looked authentic, putting just enough atrocities on film to leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth--just enough to make this an open-and-shut case, to keep anyone from figuring out what really went on here."

"Which is..?"

"I'm not sure. We'll have to find the real altar to figure that out."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but the forensics teams have already been over this place with a fine-tooth comb. This is the only altar on site."

"I seriously doubt it." said Briggs. "The best way to keep something to hidden is to make everyone think they know where it is. You didn't find the real altar because you thought you had it right here.

"Does this place have a second floor?"

"Just the balcony that held the organ and choir."

"What about a basement?"

"There's a storage room downstairs."

"It must be there." Briggs seemed to be getting excited. The change in his demeanor since their arrival at Hosanna of Bethany was making Findhorn uneasy.

"There are plenty of rooms on this floor, if you really want to make a search--"

"Offices. They'd be locked. Locks breed curiosity about what they're hiding that makes it worth being locked in. What I'm looking for will be hidden in a place that no one would think to investigate, not one that invites investigation."

Briggs quickly walked to the foyer. Findhorn followed, then led him to the stairs.

By his looks, Briggs couldn't be more than five years younger than Findhorn. Factoring in his heavy smoking, Findhorn couldn't understand how the tall man could move so quickly. He was at the bottom of the stair before Findhorn had even mounted them.

The basement's primary function looked to be storage. A haphazard stack of boxes filled a corner--they'd been searched and had contained nothing of use to the investigation. Two dozen barrels of sacramental wine lay in a metal wrack along the far wall.

"Has anyone checked inside these?" Briggs asked.

"We tapped a few of them. They're full of sacramental wine."

"So no one opened them up?"

Findhorn shrugged. "Wasn't necessary. Church records said they were full of wine and a tap proved it."

"I'm not debating they have wine in them." said Briggs, hand on his chin. "I'm just wondering if there might be something else in there."

"Like what?"

"One way to find out." said Briggs. He pulled one of the barrels off the rack and stood it up in front of him. Findhorn marvelled--the oversize barrel had to weigh more than 200 pounds, but Briggs had dragged it off the rack as if it were nothing.

"Detective, pass me that crowbar on the wall rack behind you."

Findhorn passed Briggs the crowbar, saying, "You're nuts, Briggs. Why would someone go to all that trouble just for a big fake? What could be worth all that time and effort?"

Briggs pried off the cover of the barrel and peered inside.

"Covering this up." he said.

Inside the barrel, the body of an adolescent boy floated, pickled by the wine.