Zealot Read online

  ZEALOT

  C. VONZALE LEWIS

  Copyright © 2021 by C. Vonzale Lewis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Loni Crittenden, Erica Farner, & Megan Hultberg

  The Parliament House

  www.parliamenthousepress.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  A Bargain With the Devil

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  A Dangerous Game of Hide and Seek

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  A Quiet Place

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  A Spider’s Web

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Mind in Chaos

  Chapter 23

  A Shortcut to Madness

  A Prospect of Chance

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A Road Not Taken

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  A Point of No Return

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  A Mirror for the Abyss

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Nicole Needs You More Than Ever

  The Parliament House

  For my husband, Bobby, thank you for the support you give.

  For my loving mother, Gynda, your strength has inspired me.

  And for my Aunt Louise, who is resting in Heaven.

  …Footfalls echo in the memory

  Down the passage which we did not take

  Towards the door we never opened

  Into the rose-garden…

  T. S. Eliot

  1

  A small package leaned against the wall just outside my apartment door. The sight of it had an icy chill running down my spine, stopping me dead in my tracks. Dirt and grime coated the brown wrapping paper along with several postage stamps. Cambodia this time. The fucking bastard didn’t stay in one place too long. A tidal wave of anger flooded my body when I pictured the contents I knew were inside.

  Pictures of his latest victim.

  It was the third package I’d received from Doc—Ronald Stewart—in the past month.

  I dropped my overnight bag on the floor and knelt beside it. My trembling hand hovered over the tainted thing, as if I could somehow destroy it with my magick.

  The package must have arrived either Friday or Saturday. I hadn’t been home since Thursday. Kara and I were taking turns staying with Marta and the kids. They were still suffering from the torture they had been subjected to.

  Kara knelt beside me and picked up the parcel. I wanted to stop her, keep her from touching the putrid sickness inside, but I also understood that we’d eventually have to give it to Devlin. Silly as it sounded, to me, picking it up was a reminder that I’d failed. That if I had only figured out sooner what the Stewart family was up to, none of this would have happened.

  The thought remained on a constant loop inside my head.

  The first package from Doc arrived two weeks after we killed his sister and brother; a battle that took place on his family’s land hidden in the small marshland between Sandpoint and Alice. Doc, after murdering his nurse Emilia, had left a note for me, along with directions to the barn-like structure. There, his family was holding close to fifty people, including Marta, for their Harvest ritual. We’d won that fight. And I’d barely escaped with my life.

  Like his first letter to me, he’d written in graphic detail about the torture he’d inflicted on Felicity Markum. Ronald had carved her up and eaten pieces of her. He’d even included photographs of his work. Unfortunately, he never signed the letter. It would have been proof of what he was doing—a confession written in his own hand. But he was too smart for that.

  Mixed in with the gruesome photographs was a picture of him in Thailand, arms around a group of kids, while wearing a doctor’s uniform. And while blending in with other physicians and treating the locals, he killed without the constraints his family had put on him. We’d scoured online news outlets in the locations he’d sent me boxes from: Thailand, Philippines, and Malaysia, and found articles on his victims. Local women who bore a passing resemblance to me. I still get nauseous thinking about those photographs and the fact that he, in his mind, was obviously killing me over and over again.

  It was only when he left the area that he’d send me mementos with a bottle of Asbach Uralt—his favorite brandy—and photographs of his latest victim. Devlin sent copies of the first letter and set of pictures to the embassy in Thailand. Sadly, we never got a response.

  After some debate, we’d sent the pictures and the note to the Markum family. I wanted to shield them from the horror, but Devlin argued since they’d hired him to find out about their daughter, he was obligated to share the information with them, no matter how much we wanted to protect them from the reminder of their daughter’s death the pictures would surely invoke. And in the end, I understood why they needed to know, and it wasn’t my decision to make.

  A few days later, Devlin had received a letter—a check with an obscene amount of money along with a signed contract from the Markums. Regardless of their daughter not dying from the ritual, they hired him to look into the other blood magick users on Tulare Island. The letter contained carefully worded instructions on what to do when we found them. While not direct, we all understood they wanted us to kill them all.

  Despite their wishes, we simply couldn’t do that. At least that’s what Devlin said. I was firmly in the Markums’ camp. We could, he said, investigate the five remaining families to determine if they were practicing blood magick. And if they were, we’d stop them. Seemed simple enough. Yet, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be.

  I stood up. My hand shook as I tried to ram my key into the lock—scratching at the polished brass. Pulling in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and pushed down the pain. Pushed down the images that were inside that dirty package. Pushed down the guilt and finally, hand steady, unlocked my door. Picking my bag up from the floor, I rushed inside and came to an abrupt stop in the middle of my living room.

  A sudden kaleidoscope of memories cascaded through me, keeping me rooted in place. My bag thumped to the floor as I let the onslaught of them overtake me. The many times clues had presented themselves—practically smacking me in the face. My chest heaved and blood rushed through my veins while black spots blocked my vision. I gripped my shirt, burying my knuckles between my breasts.

  It all started with me walking into Tribec Insurance and smelling blood. Instead of running out of the building, I stayed.

  When I spotted the magick wards and symbols peppered throughout, sure, I questioned it, but still, I didn’t leave.

  Then, when I was presented with the option to leave, I’d stayed.

  And with Doc, I’d let hormones and anger at my having to take a job I would hate fuel my decision making. Turning a blind eye when I sensed, deep down, something was off about him.

  I couldn’t change the past, no matter how much I wished I could. But accepting what had happened felt wrong too. Like giving up, somehow. Each time I was faced with it, my body, mind, and soul wanted to shut down. To block out the world and just forget. That was how I usually handled things. But lately, that hadn’t been working. Alek advised me to use cleansing breaths and mantras to help.

  Fuck mantras. I wanted blood.

  But sadly, until we stopped Doc and all the other blood magick users on this damn island, I would probably keep having these episodes.

  I could do one thing to help myself, though: I could stop referring to that sadistic monster by the pet name I’d given him.

  I threw my keys on my brand-new coffee table. They skidded across the glass, most likely leaving little dips and grooves—permanently damaging the surface—and came to rest near the stack of self-help magazines I’d started accumulating. I had hoped the articles would help me deal with the panic attacks. But sadly, they, along with the book on surviving abuse I’d purchased, weren’t working.

  Figuring if I couldn’t get my mind right, I could at least give my apartment a makeover. I’d bought a few items of furniture with the money Devlin gave me. Along with the coffee table, I found a small dinette set in pretty good condition at a yard sale. Eventually, I’d get some towels and a few pictures for the walls.

  The only drawback of me making my apartment into a home was that I still pictured my previous neighbor, Wade, dead on the floor in the corner of my living room. And sadly, no amount of gussying up would ever wipe that gruesome apparition from my mind.

  Kara walked up behind me. I could feel her eyes boring into my back and feel the weight of her concern hanging in the air.

  “Why did you pick it up?” I asked, not turning around.

  “You know why,” she answered, her tone cautious.
r />   I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

  “Devlin said we need to keep tracking him,” she continued, her voice softening. “And if he’s crazy enough to send us information on where he is, we shouldn’t just throw it away.”

  I whipped around and snatched the package from her. “He sends these sick little mementos after he’s left the area. How can that information help?” I was arguing with the wrong person. But my anger had to go somewhere. And sadly, Kara was the only person in the room. I threw the package on the ground; the thump was like nails on a chalkboard.

  My damn fault. All of it.

  She didn’t move. Just stood there with love and patience in her eyes. She, like everyone else, had become used to my sudden outbursts. I hated that. I’d promised myself I would stop, but today, it really couldn’t be helped.

  I didn’t understand why Devlin wanted to start with the church. It made more sense for us to focus on the Sinclair family since they were the ones who had hurt Marta’s kids. But he pointed out the protection around them right now would pose a risk to us, so we’d begin with the Young family.

  When I continued to argue with him, he must have picked up on my hesitancy and figured out there was more to my not wanting to deal with the Young family than what I was saying. He stopped insisting and had given me the opportunity to explain my reluctance. But true to form, I had declined to go into detail, leaving me with no way out of the situation.

  Kara continued to stare at me as I cycled through my anger.

  Pull it together, Nicole.

  It was the love in her eyes that chipped away at my resolve.

  Besides, our friendship was the one thing keeping me sane. I couldn’t afford to lose her. Not now. Not ever. And more importantly, she didn’t deserve my rage.

  “Sorry,” I said, reaching for her.

  She smiled and wrapped her arm around me, pulling me close. “You know I will always have your back, Nicole.”

  “I know,” I mumbled. “I just…”

  She stepped back and looked at me. “We all, just… The key is to keep it together. Let the fury build.” Her mouth stretched into a wicked grin. “And when the time is right, we strike. Letting all that rage feed our magick.”

  “And bathe in the blood of our enemies?” The last of my anger slowly seeped out of my pores. I could do this.

  She laughed, her body also relaxing as she studied me. “That’s right. We will bathe in their blood and let their screams be our soundtrack.”

  “Have I told you lately that I’m a little frightened of you?”

  Her face took on a pensive look while she tapped her finger on the side of her cheek. “No. But I’m thinking I should get that printed on a t-shirt.” She gestured across the spans of her chest. “Fear me.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve corrupted you.”

  She picked up the package off the ground. “Well, maybe I needed a little corrupting.” She pointed toward my bedroom. “Now, why don’t you go find something proper and decent to wear to church.”

  “Shit,” I said and rushed out of the room. Despite not wanting to go, I still loathed the idea of being late. I’ve always hated having to rush in anyplace at the last minute. It made me feel as if I were missing something. Like in my haste to beat the clock, I’d left out a crucial task or step when getting ready. That’s why I always left early. It gave me time to not only think, but also circle back if I had, in fact, forgot something.

  I opened my closet door and stared at the mounds of clothing crammed into the small space. I didn’t have church clothes, at least not according to society’s standards. But then again, I never much cared for the boxes the illusive “they” put people in in the first place. So, fuck them.

  And it was that very attitude that had me staring at the many clothes in my closet, contemplating wearing a short red dress to church.

  “He’s in Cambodia,” Kara said as she walked into the room. “And yes, there are pictures.”

  Why the hell had she opened the package?

  “That’s inconvenient,” I said as I stared at a skintight black dress. I doubted I could blend in showing off my cleavage, and if I had to bend over for any reason, I was sure to cause an uproar. Might even get a few people offering to pray for me. I groaned and shoved it back in the closet. It landed on the floor with the rest of my clean clothes. I really needed to do something about my closet.

  “The pictures?”

  I glanced over at her. “No, Kara, the fact that he’s in Cambodia. How the hell am I supposed to kill the sick bastard if he’s not here?”

  She set the pictures on my bed and joined me at the closet door. “Remember what Devlin said,” she slanted her eyes toward me, “he’ll return eventually.”

  Devlin believed Doc was obsessed with me. Even after he’d gotten away, he continued contacting me. Taunting me. And that level of fixation would not only make him careless, but also force him to return to Tulare. So, he wanted us to keep the sick mementos Doc sent. That way we could keep an eye on his progression into madness. It would be the only signal we had when he inevitably returned to Tulare Island.

  When I objected, he pointed out that I got away from him once and would do so again. This time, with the team backing me. Yes, it’s true I did survive. Even if I hadn’t known my life was in danger. But it didn’t mean I liked the idea of waiting around patiently for him to come and finally finish the job.

  The bastard had told me in one of his letters he wanted to kill me—that his desire to do so was so overpowering that he had to fight hard against it. So, instead of raping and killing me, he had turned me into a useful pawn in his scheme to get away from his family and free himself from the shackles they’d imposed. He’d wanted free rein to continue with his sick proclivities, and I was the useful idiot who helped him get away.

  I shook my head. “Eventually? How many women will he kill between now and then?” My stomach flipped and bile rose, burning my throat. A wave of dizziness came over me. I stumbled toward the bed, shoved the pictures out of the way, and sat down. “I can’t do this.”

  Kara turned and extended a dress to me. “This will work.”

  “Did you hear me?” I took the pale-yellow summer dress from her. “I can’t do this.”

  “I heard you. And”—she smiled sarcastically—“I’m ignoring you.”

  “Fine. If I fuck up, I will blame you.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she said, and went over to my jewelry box. “Do you have earrings to match?”

  Honestly, I couldn’t recall when I’d bought the dress. So, there was no way I’d remember having earrings to match. While Kara searched my jewelry box, I slipped out of my clothes, pulled on the dress, and groaned. The damn thing was too tight.

  Kara handed me a pair of gold hoops. I put them on and surveyed myself in the mirror. My hair stuck out all over the place, looking as if I’d stuck my finger in a socket. Red splotches covered my cheeks, forehead, and chin. And the bags under my eyes made me look as if I’d been awake for the past thirty days. I could cover it all with make-up, but I refused to put any on in this heat. And doing my hair would take too much time. So, tight yellow dress and wild-woman-do, it was.

  Kara took the box back into the living room and put it on the coffee table while I grabbed my purse. Before we left out, I debated briefly on whether or not we should take the damn thing with us. I didn’t want it in my house. But I also didn’t want to touch it again, either.

  So, I left it where it was.

  Wade’s apartment sat next to mine near the entrance. As we made our way to the front door, Kara stopped and stared at the for-rent sign affixed to the frame.