The Inquisitor

©2001 A. Marston Croft
All rights reserved.

Zona hastens as footsteps echo from the darkened subway terminal. Terrifying visions of the subway-slasher fill her head and send chills up her spine. The article she had read on the train said he had killed four already, their throats slit and their bodies violated. Just ahead she can see the stairs that will take her to the busy streets above, relieving the lonely dread this place instills. A light hangs in the exit, sputtering off and on and serving as a beacon to guide her.

A train speeds by, rattling her nerves and extinguishing the blinking light of her exit. She turns around. The sound and light soon disappears into the shadows and she waits for her stalker to appear. All is silent now. The footsteps have ceased.

Waiting through moment of silence, Zona exhales and turns back to the stairs. A lone figure stands there, his tall shape dark against the invading streetlight. Zona gasps, putting her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, though every ounce of her will desires to. Clutching her purse tightly in both hands, she looks to the floor and hurriedly steps towards the exit.

Just as she reaches the second step, the lone figure, his features still shadowed, grabs her gently by the shoulder. She tries to speak but can't. She freezes.

"Don't be frightened." the man's voice is deep and somehow soothing. "You left this on the train. I wanted to return it." Slowly he removes his hand from her shoulder and gives offers her something in his other.

With her heart pounding, Zona reaches with trembling fingers and retrieves the blue woolen scarf she had indeed unknowingly left on the train. "Th-thank you,"

There is a long silence before either of them speak a word each searching the shadows for the others eyes.

"I was watching you on the train," the man's voice begins to haunt her. "That's a very strange tattoo on your neck."

"It's a birthmark." Zona's voice cracks, and her eyes start to gloss with tears.

"It reminds me of a snake." The voice states, a hint of malice hides in its softness.

"I, I have to go ... my friends are waiting for me, p-please."

The tall man moves aside and motions his hand towards the exit. Backing against the wall, she grabs the handrail and runs up the stairs, the sound of her heels reverberating like gunshots.

Once on the street, she finds herself alone. This wasn't her stop. The signs had been hard to read and it was dark. In all her paranoia and fear she had failed to pay proper attention to where she was going. The area is grim and squalid. Ugly brick tenements stretch out as far as the eye can see, and the streets are, to her chagrin, empty. Against better judgment, she looks back, just in time to see the tall man cast a sinister black shadow in the distant streetlight.

All at once her suspicions are confirmed. Losing all regard for social structure she breaks into a run, aimless and desperate. Streetlamps flash above her as she goes, one after another. The stalkers footsteps pound in her mind in time with hers. Real or imagined, she didn't care. She was well beyond comforting herself with reassurance of delusion. She is too afraid to even look behind herself now.

Dull neon light protrudes from a hole in the wall bar, breaking the pattern of endless slums. The Full Moon tavern looms above her, bathing her in blue light and the smell of sweat. Barely pausing to catch her breath, Zona enters the bar.

The bouncer, a large and overweight man in a cheap white suit, stands in the doorway. He eyes her, first in surprise, and then with interest as most men do.

"What's the hurry?" his voice is coarse and low.

"Please, help me," she whimpers."There's a man following me."

The bouncer lifts an eyebrow and peeks out of the doorway, slowly scanning the streets. "I don't see anyone. Are you sure?"

Zona looks into the street and finds it empty. She wipes her tears and looks at the floor.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away, I guess. I was reading about the slasher while I was on the subway and I took the wrong stop."

The bouncer offers her a tissue. "No, no ... there's a lot of nut-jobs out there. You were right to run. You shouldn't be out in a hood like this without a man."

She takes offense at his remark, but realizes her actions do not permit her to protest.

"Go ahead and take a seat, I'll get you a drink, something to calm your nerves. Then, if you want, I'll call you a cab."

"Thank you." She walks over to an empty booth in the back of the room, holding her breath as she passes through the clouds of cigarette smoke. A moment passes, and the bouncer brings her a tall pink beverage with a blue umbrella.

"There you go," he winks. "My name's John. Call me if you need me."

Slowly she sips her drink, looking about the crowded bar. At the front door, the bouncer confronts a young man in a plain gray suit. She stirs in her seat for a moment, wondering if this was the man that had followed her, and for a moment all of her fears return. The young man glances at her as his identification is examined and then begins to make his way in Zona's direction, drawing a suspicious stare from the sentry.

"I'm sorry." His voice is different from the man in the terminal."I saw you run in here. You dropped this."

Zona feels relief and embarrassment as the young man hands her the scarf. "Thank you," she says, blushing. "That's twice tonight."

"You looked like you were in trouble. Is everything okay?" The man sits down in her booth uninvited, brushing his long blonde hair from his face.

"I thought I was being followed by someone. Really quite stupid ... I got myself all worked up over nothing."

"No, that's not stupid. Did you see who it was?"

"No, it was dark. He gave me my scarf, just like you did. He sounded very kind."

"They always do." The young man shakes his head. "I don't mean to pry, but that is a very interesting tattoo."

Zona brushes her soft white hair over the strange swerving defect. "It's a birthmark." Her voice is withdrawn.

"Funny," the young man says with an odd interest, "it looks like you had a tattoo removed. And your hair ... I've never seen a girl so young with white hair."

Zona feels insulted. "I've never had a tattoo."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Please forgive me."

"You don't need to apologize." She rolls her eyes and smiles, the insult still felt.

"What kind of drink is that?" the young man changes the subject.

"I'm not sure," Zona laughs as she examines the oddly colored spirits, "Something fruity."

The young man forces a laugh. "I tell you what, I know this great place downtown."

"No, no thank you," she interrupts."I was going to call for a cab in a moment. I'd really rather just go home. I'm sorry."

"That's understandable. Can I at least give you a ride home? Cab fare is getting outrageous these days."

"No, I'll be okay." She smiles and motions for the bouncer to make the call. He nods.

"Look, I don't mean to come off like a creep, but you can trust me." The young man tries to make eye contact as Zona avoids his gaze.

"It's quite all right, but all the same, I'm going to wait for my cab now." Standing from the booth, she starts to leave as the young man grabs her arm.

"At least tell me your name."

Zona yanks her arm free. "I'd rather not." She starts to head for the door then stops midway. Turning back, she grabs the scarf from the table and wraps it around her neck, ignoring the young man's looks.

Outside, rain has begun to fall, quickly turning from a slight drizzle into a deep downpour. Clutching her arms about her for warmth, Zona steps beneath the bar's canopy. The rain makes a pleasant sound on the filthy tenement rooftops, while somewhere in the distance a dog howls. Down the street, headlights pierce the night.

Zona reaches into her purse for cash, expecting the cab to pull up beside her. As the car drives closer, however, she sees instead a black vintage Mustang with tinted windows rolling slowly through the rain and streetlight. The car parks one block away on the opposite side of the street, its engines purring soundly. The driver's door opens, revealing a tall, red-haired man dressed in black. Slowly he begins to walk in her direction, the engine of his car still running and his features blurred by distance and falling water.

Zona tries to suppress her fear. She knows he's just going into the bar, she knows it's not the same man that she met in the terminal. Then why does she doubt her own logic? Why did the man leave his car running, and why does she feel his dark eyes on her skin? The man said he had seen her on the train. If he had been on the train, why would he have a car here now? But she saw no one on the train.

Suddenly the dark figure stands in the light before her. There is a glint of light, and before she can see any detail of the man's face, she spots the knife in his black, gloved hand. The other reaches for her.

Just as she is close to a scream, an empty bottle hurls past her, striking her assailant in the head and shattering violently from the impact. The young man in the gray suit grabs her arm as the large man drops to one knee, clutching his bleeding head.

"Hurry, my car is just down the street!" The young man's order is not met with protest. Zona tries to keep pace, glancing back in time to see the tall man returning to his car in a stagger. "Jesus, he was really going to kill you!"

"It's him," Zona gasps, "that was the slasher!"

The young man stops next to a blue Honda and quickly opens the passenger door. "Get in!"

She climbs into the passenger seat, looking around nervously for the man in black. "Shouldn't we go to the bar for help?"

"They can't help us," the young man argues. In the distance, the Mustang's engine roars. The car starts without fault. Just as they take to the road, the glaring headlights of the Mustang appear behind them.

"We need to find the police!" Zona screams as she turns to look out the rear window.

"I need to lose him first." The young man swerves to turn a corner. The sudden shift throws Zona into the door, slamming her head into the window. All goes dark.

Zona awakens in the passenger seat. The driver's door is open and the young man is not there. The hood-light illuminates the car, leaving the outside dark as pitch. Looking groggily at her hand, she finds it covered in blood and she immediately checks herself for wounds. Her dress is covered in blood as well, though after an examination, she finds nothing but a lump where her head collided with the glass. The dashboard, windshield, and steering wheel also drip with red, the faint salty smell sickening her. Slowly she opens the door and stumbles outside.

In the pale light from the car, she finds herself in a forest of birch trees. A full moon hangs in the dark clouds above and the ground beneath her naked feet is still wet from rain. Reaching back into the car to search for her shoes, she quickly stifles a scream.

There on the back seat is the still and bloodied corpse of the young man in the gray suit. His long blonde hair hangs in knotted strands over his pale, empty face. The breast of his wrinkled suit is stained crimson around a vicious knife-wound, the blood still dripping down his pants and into a pool on the seat. A long curved knife balances loosely in his right hand, its blade clean of blood.

All is quiet for the moment, and Zona finds herself calm. She should be scared now, but she isn't. She should feel something for the poor murdered man who tried to help her, but she doesn't. Something is wrong with the grotesque picture before her. Something she can't quite place. It's almost as if the corpse isn't real, and she, the viewer, is separated from the situation by a movie screen or the page of a novel.

Cautiously, she puts her hand to the dead man's face, his skin cold and hard. How long had she been unconscious? She runs her finger over his cheek, then the bridge of his nose. Her pulse quickens, and she hears herself swallow. A cold sweat congeals on her forehead. As her frail fingers pass over the man's eyebrow, something comes loose.

The corner of his thick, black brow folds back slightly, revealing glistening adhesive and bald flesh. Bewildered, she peels off one, and then the other. Reaching for his hair, she pulls, and the long blonde wig slides from his smooth, hairless head. Just above the place where his hairline would be is a small tattoo of a serpent winding between three black circles.

Suddenly the urgency returns as waves of fear engulf her. In a daze, she reaches to the floorboard to retrieve her shoes, stumbling backwards quickly after. The soft, cool mud fills the space between her toes. Slowly, with wide glazed eyes and trembling lips, she searches her surroundings. Off in the woods, she can make out the shape of an old two-story house. A light comes on in an upstairs window.

"Please, don't move." The voice is familiar. "Don't make a sound." Moving silently from the birches is a tall dark shape.

Zona exhales, dropping the shoes to the ground and taking five steps back. The terror she had felt in the terminal has returned, amplified by the gravity of her situation. Without thinking she bolts. With speed she thought herself incapable of, she splashes through the muddy, makeshift driveway leading to the secluded home.

She stands before the stairs to the front porch. In the sickly yellow moonlight she can make out a dozen or so cars parked in front, but she doesn't stop to look at them. Stumbling up the brittle wooden steps, she pounds fiercely on the door with the palm of her hand, screaming until hoarse.

A few seconds later, the door swings open, blurring her vision with a bright flash of light. A large and muscular man in a stained white tee-shirt stands in the doorway. His head is bald, and immediately she notices the black weaving snake decorating his forehead. Scowling, he slams the screen door open with the palm of his hand. The door connects with Zona's face as it swings, its jagged wires stinging as they cut her upper lip. Before she can raise a sound, he grabs her by the back of her neck with one massive hand and flings her inside and to the floor.

Striking her head on the unyielding wood, Zona begins to drift from consciousness, her vision blurring into a chaotic swirl of dull browns and yellows.

"Who is she?" comes a woman's voice, slowly distorting and growing deeper.

"I don't know, but I think he's here," says a gruff male's voice, the one who threw her to the floor, she assumes.

"Who's here?" asks a third, less masculine voice.

"The inquisitor."

"Are you sure?" the feminine voice questions. There is no audible answer. "Look at her neck, her hair. How peculiar. How very fortunate."

Then vision and sound wind into nothingness, and all is dark again.

Zona awakens once again. A strong and pungent smell assaults her senses, making her lips purse and her eyes water. The room is devoid of light. Her naked body shivers in this darkness. Harsh rope bindings suspend her, constricting her wrists and pressing her bare skin against the cold concrete wall. Her feet and hands are bound tightly by rope. Something brushes past her leg in the darkness, something sleek and scaled. She tries to scream, but finds her mouth gagged. The taste of blood is fresh in her mouth. In a panic she begins to thrash about, struggling desperately to free herself from her bonds

"Be still, child." A deep and commanding voice, its gender ambiguous, resonates from all around her. "You have brought death to my children, and for this you must be judged."

Again she tries to scream, her attempt meeting with a pathetic muffled choking.

"You, too, are my child, and as such you shall be judged in darkness, so that I may not be swayed to favor by your beauty." Again the unseen serpent slithers past her, this time moving further up her leg.

"Let her speak." At the voice's command, two soft and feminine hands remove the cloth from her mouth. Zona coughs, a slick mix of blood and saliva coating her lips.

"Speak now, child. Why have you brought the inquisitor to my temple?"

"Please, let me go. I didn't do anything."

"She speaks the truth, Magistrate," a female voice comments. "She is ignorant. She is afraid, and that is all."

"Then perhaps we should initiate the ceremony."

"Yes, Magistrate. She would not understand. Nor do we have time to explain. The inquisitor draws nearer as we speak."

"Very well. We must act quickly. Give us light, my children."

The room is illuminated as three torches are lit. The scene before her is beyond anything she could have imagined. She is in what must be the cellar of the house. Standing all around her is a crowd of at least two-dozen men and women. The men, all bald and tattooed as the young man had been, and the women all with flowing white hair. All stand naked, a carpet of serpents writhe at their feet.

The crowd splits, revealing a beautiful young woman. She writhes forward toward Zona, her delicate limbs twisting about like cobras and a vacant look on her pale, pretty face. Something long and black protrudes from her mouth, curling round her delicate neck, sifting through her long white hair and ending near her breast. At first, Zona thinks it is some sort of monstrous tongue, but as the pale ghost of a woman slides closer, the image of a tongue is replaced with the reality of a twitching tail of a long black serpent. Looking down, Zona's eyes widen in horror as the head and body of the snake slides smoothly from between the strange young woman's legs, its scales slickly glistening with blood and bodily fluids. Slowly, it rises like a great weaving phallus. Its cold serpent eyes meet Zona's. In that instant she is freed from emotion. All cares disappear and, with a whisper, her will is enslaved by the beast.

The serpent speaks without sound, its thoughts echoing in her mind.

"By fate you have found us. You are my child, lost to me at birth, stolen by an inquisitor. At last we have found you, my dearest child. Join me now in body and soul." This was the voice that had spoke to her in darkness, not the woman's and not the snake's, but something of the two together.

The serpent breaks its gaze. Softly it begins to caress her skin, leaving a translucent red trail on her cheek. Parting her quivering lips with its nose, the great black reptile slides into her mouth and begins forcing itself down her throat. Zona's eyes widen and she begins to gag. The taste is terrible and she can't breathe, but she doesn't care. All the horror of her situation lies trapped outside her mind, trying desperately to break the serpent's spell.

Suddenly there is a sound as loud as thunder. Zona awakens from the serpent's hypnosis as a warm splash of blood washes across her face. The young woman stands before her still, a great gaping wound open in her pale head. Slowly she begins to fall, her vacant eyes rolling back in their sockets as the serpent's tail whips about violently. Its head quickly withdraws from Zona's throat, and it hisses murderously as it collapses to the floor. Zona coughs as its foul coating drips from her mouth. She vomits.

Blood stings her eyes and she can see only flashes of the violence about her. More gunshots accompany screams and howls in a language unknown to her. The shock is terrible, and as her mind tries to deal with the situation it fails. In fainting she is relieved again of fear and pain.

Zona awakens, this time on a bed. The room is dark and unfamiliar, and smells of must and age. Her clothes are still missing, though she is covered by a warm, thick blanket. Too tired to struggle, she begins to cry in a hoarse and weakened tone.

A light comes on, weakly illuminating what appears to be a dusty, abandoned bedroom. Old quilts cover the bed she lies on, while dust and cobwebs decorate the drab wooden walls. Standing solemnly in the doorway is the man in black.

He stands well over six feet, dressed simply in a black pea coat, his hands in black leather gloves. His features are strong and handsome, though his face betrays no feeling. His close-cut hair is a deep red and trails to his chin in long pointed sideburns. Tiny drops of blood stain his right cheek and a bandage is taped above his eye.

"Please," Zona whispers, "please don't kill me."

The man in black smiles as he walks towards the bed. Zona begins to struggle.

"I'm not here to kill you. You're safe now."

Still struggling, her body sore from the night's ordeals, Zona sits up and backs against the wall, pulling the blanket around her. The tall man sits beside her and exhales, staring at the floor.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions."

"Who are you?" Zona's voice shivers to match her body.

The man smiles and answers without looking at her.

"My name is Milo."

"Who where those people? What did they want with me?"

The man turns to meet her.

"It's best you didn't know. All I can tell you is that it would have been horrible. Far worse than anything the subway slasher could have done."

"Then, you're not him?"

"No, I'm not him."

"What happened to them, the people in the basement?"

"I had to kill them." Milo removes a white tissue from his coat and wipes the blood from his face.

"All of them? There must have been twenty."

"Yes, all of them. Some resisted, but most resigned themselves to their fate. I killed their leader first. Without it, they are lost."

"I don't understand any of this. Why did you kill them?"

"I can't expect you to understand, but I'll try to explain. This cult, and others like it, threaten the way of life you know. It's my job to interfere, to make sure they don't reveal themselves to the sleeping world and awaken it to the horror of the truth."

Zona begins to dry her tears.

"What will you do with me, now that I've seen them?"

"Well, if you promise never to utter a word of this, I'll drive you home, and you'll never see me again."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

A phone begins to ring. "One moment, then I'll take you home," he tells her, his voice is calm and reassuring. Standing, he walks out of the room and closes the door. Making his way to the stairwell, he bends over to pick up his cell-phone.

"It's done," he answers without a greeting. "Yes, all except the girl. No, she doesn't know anything. She was a cult-child, but Salem freed her shortly after birth. She has led a normal life until now. Yes, she saw the master." A scowl crosses the inquisitor's face and his open hand clenches into a fist. "I see. No, you're probably right. I will. Yes, that is convenient. I'm sorry as well, but we must be sure. Indeed."

Closing the flip, Milo reaches into his coat, feeling for the handle of his butterfly knife. With his other hand he opens the bedroom door. Zona sits on the bed, her naked back exposed. The dim light from the lamp complements her beauty, and Milo bites his lip at the sight. Zona looks at him with eyes lost in time and smiles faintly.

"I'll take you home now."

Milo takes the glass and begins to drink. The vodka burns his throat as it travels down, warming his insides and releasing some of his tension. The droning hum of low-volume country music is interrupted as the bartender turns up the television.

"Quiet everyone," she commands, and the chatter of truckers and winos comes to a halt.

The reporter comes in, accompanied by pictures of a pretty white-haired girl.

".....The fifth victim of the elusive 'subway slasher' has been found this morning in an east Boston terminal. The victim has been identified as Zona Parker, a twenty-three-year-old graduate student and assistant curator for the museum of natural history. She was loved by friends and co-workers, but has no immediate family to notify. Police have begun searching....."

The bartender changes the channel, shaking her head in shame.

"It's a pity. She was so young."

"The world is a horrible place," the inquisitor whispers upon downing his drink. "She wasn't meant for a world like this."

"What's wrong with you?" the bartender looks at Milo distrustfully.

"Nothing. It's just that sometimes I hate my work."

Back to top of page