GRUNTS

Day One. June 6th 2016. 12.05pm.

“The room is…unfamiliar. I… don’t know how I got here. Who are you?”

“Relax, lady. The doc’s on his way. Okay?”

The cop, Glover, knelt by the side of the bathtub trying desperately not to heave, the coppery stink of blood pervasive and overwhelming as the young woman, naked, lay in the filthy, rusty bath, blood pouring, unabated, from the serrated gash in her abdomen. An older man, in plainclothes, carrying a small valise, pushed his way through the throng of cops in the doorway.

“I’ll take it from here, son”.

Glover, leaving the MD to his work, rose, the men in blue parting to allow him through as he went in search of his partner, finding her in the hallway outside, sitting, hunched on the floor, severely shaken by events, her hands, like his own, stained with blood.

“Hey, you okay?”

Stupid question, he thought, as the words left his mouth. What a way to start your life as a cop. First day on the job and she had to see this. Kneeling beside her, he thought to put his arm around her consolingly but, aware of his bloodied mitts, simply said:

“Come on, let’s get some air”.

Outside, a thin drizzle had begun to fall and the two first respondents huddled in the shelter of the apartment building’s entranceway, paying no attention to the organised chaos going on as cops hurriedly set up a cordon, an ambulance pulling up, siren blaring, and, in the darkness beyond, dozens of inquisitive faces straining to see what all the commotion was about.

“Sorry about that. It was just such a shock”.

“Hey, no need to apologise. But let me give you a piece of advice, okay? This was bad, I admit, but it wasn’t that unusual. In this city, in this job, you’re gonna see a lot more shit like this. If you’re gonna survive on these streets, you gotta grow a set o’ balls, pardon the expression; toughen up”.

“But that place, no furniture, no nothing. How’d she get there? Who cut her like that? The people I questioned said the apartment had been vacant for more than three months”.

“Wait a minute, you spoke to the neighbours?”

“Of course, what do you think I was doing? I got all their details”.

She pulled out her notebook, slightly bloodied, to show Glover who could not help but be impressed.

“Eli, I think you’re gonna make a cop after all”.

“Should we go back up there?”

“Hell, no. Look, we’re just the grunts. We’ve done our job. Once the pros turn up, we file our report and go back on patrol, back to whatever else this goddamn city has to throw our way”.

An hour later, back in 5th Precinct, both officers had completed their statements and handed them in to a Detective Fachetti. As they turned to leave, the homicide cop intoned emotionlessly:

“The woman died. Too much blood lost”.

Day Two. October 31st 2016. 12.01pm.

The call came through as Officer Eli Adamos was driving downtown with her partner. Only four months in and she had seen everything the Big Apple had to offer in the way of inhumanity and was already considered a grounded and reliable officer, adhering to the advice she’d been given by her one-time partner on her first day, remaining detached and uninvolved, gathering intel efficiently and passing it on to her superiors before returning to the streets.

The hallway was dark, a solitary, flickering bulb the only light, causing both officers to use their maglites. An elderly woman was standing in the doorway of her apartment, trembling, both hands clutched tightly to her chest. Eli whispered:

“You the one who called this in?”

The woman nodded.

“The apartment’s been empty for months but I definitely heard screaming coming from there”.

As she spoke, she pointed to the dilapidated door of an apartment across the hall.

“You’re sure it’s vacant?”

The woman nodded once more.

Other hand on her Glock 19, signalling to her partner to take the other side of the door, Eli knocked loudly with her flashlight, stepping back two paces after doing so; standard police practice. No response. Again, Eli knocked, listening keenly for any sound of occupancy from within. 

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a high pitched scream filled the air, chilling the blood of the two officers and forcing the old woman to retreat instantly into her home, slamming her door shut. Without hesitation, Eli rushed, foot up, at the flimsy door.

“Hey, El, don’t we need a warrant?”

Ignoring her partner, Eli kicked at the door three times in total before it finally gave. The stench of blood that immediately assaulted her nostrils was overpowering.

Three hours later, the lift in New York Downtown Hospital opened onto a seated area and Joe Fachetti, Detective, 5th Precinct, stepped out. Immediately, he spotted the familiar blue of a uniformed officer, sitting, waiting. Though he couldn’t recall her name, Fachetti vaguely recognised the pretty young woman.

“Officer, what are you doing here?”

Eli stood and approached the older man.

“I was wondering how she was doing? My shift ended and…”

Fachetti frowned. Why couldn’t these kids just do their grunt work and leave the real detecting to pros like himself?

“She didn’t make it. Look, Officer…?”

“Adamos. Eli Adamos. I know, I know. I have to stay emotionless, no empathy, blah, blah, blah. But that’s easier said than done. And there’s something that I haven’t told anybody”.

The cafeteria was empty at this late hour as Fachetti took a seat opposite the young officer.

“You Italian?”

“Greek”

Fachetti nodded. It was hard to tell sometimes; the dark colouring. Eli, wasting no more time, unburdened herself of the memory that had haunted her for months.

“My first day on the job, almost five months ago, we, my partner and I, came across an identical situation. Vacant apartment, no power, naked woman in a bathtub, stomach sliced open…”

Fachetti nodded, recalling, now, where he had remembered this officer. 

“Go on”.

“You’ll think I’m crazy but…well, while my partner attended the victim, I heard a noise so I went to investigate and somebody…some thing…brushed past me. I reached out and grabbed at him but my hand just passed through it, like I was reaching into a… cloud or a puff of smoke”.

“You said you reached out and grabbed at him. How do you know it was a he?”

‘I don’t. It was just an impression. It was dark. I couldn’t really see. It was just a feeling I had”.

‘What happened then?”

“I tried to give chase but my feet were frozen to the floor. I couldn’t move…”

Fachetti understood that feeling, not that many owned to it.

“Fear. It does that to the best of us…”

“No, detective! Not fear. Of course, I admit, I was terrified but my feet were, literally, immobile”.

Fachetti studied Eli’s face shrewdly. She was no fool, that he could tell. But, as much as he wanted to believe her, this story of a wraith, a shadow creature, was just too much for him to take in. Eli registered his disbelief but continued relating her tale.

“Here’s the thing though, detective, my hand, where I had tried to grab him…it was covered in blood”.

“The victim’s blood? When you entered the bathroom? You must have come into conta…”

“No, detective. Glover, my partner, that day. He wouldn’t allow me into the bathroom. He was trying to protect me; first day on the job”.

The veteran cop considered carefully before speaking.

“This is to go no further. Eva Sanchez, that woman, back in the summer? Twenty years old. She’d been pregnant. The wound was a C-section. Abdomen and uterus cut surgically and a baby removed”.

Eli gasped. 

“Today’s murder-same thing. Caesarian. In both cases, no sign of the babies. Same MO”.

“Oh my God! Some kind of black market in babies?”

Fachetti shrugged, noncommittally.

‘I don’t know. I thought it was a one off but, today’s events make that highly improbable. Let’s stay in touch and, on the slim chance that you come across something on the streets that might help, you know where to find me”.

Some days later, it was revealed that the latest victim’s name had been Lilith Bloom, 20 years old, and Eli shuddered to think that both victims had been the same age as herself. The thought that the killer had actually been within her grasp, haunted her, day and night. She could think of nothing else but felt powerless to do anything.

One night, she awoke, terrified and perspiring, from a vivid nightmare in which an evil presence had been on top of her, holding her down, its fetid breath nauseating, and she became aware of a wetness between her legs, shocked to find her pyjama pants stained a bright red, the blood seeping into her sheets. Assuming that her monthly cycle was out of sync, she, nevertheless, could not shake a feeling of dread and, there and then, made the decision to investigate this case herself.

Day Three. December 24th 2016. 11pm.

“Thanks for meeting, Detective. My shift starts in just over an hour and I have a lot to tell you”.

Fachetti, desperate to be home on Christmas Eve, leant back, resignedly, in his chair and signalled for the officer to go ahead. Through the window behind him, snow had begun to fall; it would be a white Christmas after all.

“I thought that the murders might be ritualistic, you know? I went back through the records to see if there had been any other, similar killings. And I found one. A woman named Alana Avci. Exact same MO…”

Fachetti, suddenly found himself wanting to hear more.

“Okay, you got my attention”.

“I’ve spent hours…days…in Society Library. I’ve been down so many rabbit holes but bear with me, okay? All I ask is that you keep an open mind. My first day on the job: June 6th 2016. That’s what gave me the first inkling of what this is really about. 6th day of the 6th month, 2016. Three sixes. 666!”

“Satanic? You think these are some kind of devil worshippers?”

“The second killing took place on October 31st-Halloween, the night when evil is unleashed. It can’t be a coincidence. But the first murder, the one you didn’t know about, that took place in March, in the Bronx, which is why it didn’t show on your radar. The building number was 616!”

Fachetti was confused.

“I don’t get it”.

“Neither did I, at first. But my research showed that 666, the mark of the beast, used to be known as 616! Don’t you see? The AntiChrist!”

Fachetti shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his scepticism apparent.

“Please, let me finish. There’s more; so much more. The victims’ names: Eva -Eve, the wife of Adam. Lilith, the first wife of Adam…”

“The first wife? What first wife? I never heard of her and, trust me, I had the Bible rammed down my throat from an early age".

“Me neither. But she existed. She’s mentioned in Genesis. All of them fell foul of God and got kicked out of the Garden of Eden…”

“And you’re gonna tell me now that this… Alana… was the guy’s third wife. Jeez, this Adam’s some guy”, Fachetti scoffed.

“No, but Alana, it’s Turkish for the devil and her surname, Avci, that’s Turkish for hunter. Listen: 

Revelation 11:7 -‘ a beast will rise from a bottomless pit’

Daniel 7:7 - ‘a fourth beast shall arise’

John 2:18 - ‘so many antichrists have come. And when the fourth arises, then we know that it is the last hour’

I’m not making this shit up. There are loads more quotes from the Bible, Fachetti. The frigging Bible! There isn’t one AntiChrist, there are four! And when the fourth is snatched from its mother’s womb, it means the end of the frigging world”.

Eli threw the sheaf of documents, the evidence to support her unbelievable theory, onto Fachetti’s desk in frustration. Incredulous, the detective struggled for the right words to placate this young officer who had, to his mind, completely lost her marbles.

“Okay, okay. Look, you’ve had days to dig up this shit and digest it. You can’t expect me to just get it. I need time to study it for myself. Okay? Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you”.

It was a reasonable request; one that Eli could not argue with. She rose.

“I know it all sounds crazy. It was hard for me to absorb, too. But, if I’m right, this isn’t just some Satanic cult, Fachetti. This is the real deal. So get reading!”

Day Four. December 25th 2016. 1am.

“Sorry to ruin your Christmas but there’s a report of a disturbance. Can you check it out? Apartment 36, 1218 Mott Street”.

Eli Adamos sighed before answering the radio, attached to her shoulder. She had still not recovered from her impassioned speech to Fachetti, knowing, only too well, that she must have sounded like a complete idiot, wishing that she had taken her time and explained things in a less volatile manner. There were so many other pieces of evidence to support her theory that she had not shown the detective. What were the chances of him ever taking her seriously?

“Roger. I’m on my own on this festive night as we’re down to a skeleton crew but I’m only around the corner from Mott Street. On my way”.

“Do you need backup?”

“Nah. I’m good”.

At his home, family, upstairs, fast asleep, Detective Fachetti sat in the den, drink in hand, reading through the documents that Officer Adamos had thrown at him earlier. In an adjoining room, the lights on an overdecorated Christmas tree blinked on and off but he was oblivious, absorbed in her painstaking research.

On the one hand, the notes were pure supposition and speculation. On the other, the veteran cop could not help but admire the amount of leg work that the young officer had put into digging through the archives and, if he put aside, for one moment, the teachings of the Christian church ingrained into him, as a young, Catholic Italian, from a young age, there was no doubting the logic of Eli’s findings, supported by ancient scriptures. She was definitely more than an average grunt and would make a fine detective. But…

Eli lost consciousness as she was struck from behind in the darkness. When she came to, her head throbbing, spinning, she knew, immediately, that she was naked, the white, ice cold enamel of the bath pressing against her clammy skin, contrasting graphically with the hot blood gushing from her abdomen. Trying to focus, she struggled to make sense of her situation. Where was she? Apartment 36, she remembered; three sixes. 666! Oh my God, how could she have been so stupid? 

Reaching the end, wearily, Fachetti flipped the page. Attached by paperclip was the library card for the New York Society Library in Eli’s name, her full name: Eileithyia Adamos. Suddenly alert, he thumbed back through the notes, finding the page with the breakdown of ancient names, including those of the victims to date. There it was: Eileithyia -Greek for the devil of childbirth and labour pains! Adamos -daughter of Adam! Dropping his glass, sitting upright in alarm, heart pounding, Fachetti realised with a jolt that Eli had predicted her own demise…and, with it, the end of the world.

Simultaneously, the residents of 218 Mott Street, mostly Chinese, sleeping soundly, dreaming of a happy Christmas, were woken rudely by the sound of a single, piercing, agonised scream.