The Rapture of Omega (18 page)

I was approximately twenty feet from the barn when I resolved one aspect of the crime—the time of death. Maybe not to the hour, but as the smell bowled me over from that distance, I was positive the victims had been dead for much longer than twenty-four hours. The smell of the dead is like no other.
“It’s like trying to describe a color,” my
father used to say. It was as distinctive as the crime itself.

Spotting J.P. near the entrance, I made him my first stop. He was shaking his head, looking concerned as he spoke to the lab technicians.

“Other than the obvious, is something wrong, J.P.?”

“Hi, CeeCee, good to see you.” He patted my shoulder. “Nah, not really, there’s something that isn’t really making sense to me—outside of the fact that multiple people were slaughtered.”

“What is it?” He had my full attention.

“The outer layer of dirt. It’s filled with rose petals. People aren’t very smart in their covering bodies 101. Using roses to hide a smell is about as useless as a pogo stick in quicksand.”

“They didn’t use the rose petals to cover up the smell, J.P.,” I stated matter-of-factly.

He raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know that?”

I went into a very brief explanation of the symbol and iconic representations of the Children of Eden. J.P. let out a low whistle.

“Man, just when you think life in itself couldn’t get any worse.” He paused. “Well, let’s go get this over with.”

I accompanied J.P. into the barn. As bad as the smell was outside, nothing prepared me for the stench that hit me once I entered. Rarely did I react to the smell of death, but this was so overwhelming, I found myself reeling backward out the door, gagging. Coop saved the day by sticking a large bottle of Vicks under my nose.

“I meant to grab you before you went in,” he said somberly. “It’s one of the worst I’ve ever seen. We’re trying to get some fans in there.”

Graciously helping myself to a small spoonful, I slathered the greasy menthol over, and in, my nose. I even stuck two pieces of gum in my mouth before I was able to venture back in. J.P. was waiting.

“I’m gonna say by the smell and the condition of the body parts at the mound’s base, the time of death was approximately two to three days ago. With this heat and being inside this barn and all, decomposition was accelerated something fierce.” He nodded at the large mound of dirt that was situated near the corner.

Two or three days ago would have been at or pretty damn near the time I was watching the ritual unfold in this very barn. I wondered if the murders had already taken place then and was the cause of the bizarre celebration. It would be hours before this particular question was answered.

Noticing a small blackened hand, several toes, and an ear at the base of the mound, I took a deep breath and prepared myself. The other investigators and personnel
took positions approximately ten feet away from the mound and formed a circle as the laboratory technicians began to dig.

The deeper they dug, the farther back the onlookers stepped. With each inch of dirt thrown off the mound the already-unbearable stench grew stronger. Ten inches down, two of the lab techs threw their shovels to the side and ran outside to vomit. The hole they were digging was filling with red water, with what appeared to be pieces of flesh floating on top.

Holes were knocked into the walls of the barn as large fans were set up to provide the workers with some relief, however small.

After roughly an hour of digging, the first body was found; an adult woman, lying on her side. The FBI was notified, and a high-priority alert was issued for any member of the Children of Eden. From that point on, the digging would take hours to ensure the meticulous process of evidence collection. Two hours later, the first child was found, hands and feet bound with duct tape. Something like this takes an overwhelming emotional toll on the workers involved. The little girl couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old. Several investigators and technicians excused themselves, tears in their eyes. I, on the other hand, remained stoic. Not that I was emotionless; dead children will always bring me an indescribable grief—but I was angry. The anger overshadowed any other emotion that tried to fight its way through, no matter how powerful.

In total, two adults and two children were found—a family. Only the children had their hands and feet bound, which indicated to me the parents were killed first. All had been shot in the head; they were executed. An abomination for which Illeana Barron was directly
responsible, and I would see her pay dearly, no matter what it took.

While the digging was halfway through, Coop drove back to the station to prepare the search warrant and get it signed by a judge. Quite frankly, the warrant wasn’t necessary—the place had clearly been abandoned. But, considering Illeana’s legal power, we thought it best to have our asses covered. He arrived back at the farm as they were loading the last body into the coroner’s van. We, along with Naomi, stood silent and watched. Michael and his two subordinate agents had arrived several minutes before, and would be executing the search warrant with us. Once the first body was located, Naomi had called him to find the source of the anonymous phone call. This took the FBI less than an hour before they had a man by the name of Kirk Richards in their interview room. Coop and I recognized the name instantly.

“The smart-ass on the bike!” he exclaimed.

“He was the one on the bike at Kelly Dixon’s murder, Michael,” I explained.

“I’ll have to pass that along to the agent,” he said.

Michael was on the phone with the interviewing agent every fifteen minutes getting updates on his statements. The statements he relayed to the rest of us were almost as disturbing as the murder scene itself.

“He was a former cult member,” Michael told us, although we had already figured that out. “And I say former loosely—he only left the cult yesterday, snuck away without them knowing.”

We all stood on the front porch of the main house, listening to the horrific series of events that Kirk told the investigators.

“The murders happened the night after the ceremony, Cee.” He paused and looked at Naomi, who looked at the ground in shame. “After the ceremony, someone apparently found some type of journal written by one of the women in the cult. According to this guy, she was one of Illeana’s right-hand women—her top aide.”

“Francesca Tracy!” I exclaimed. “It has to be!”

I remembered the night of the ceremony and the look of distress on her face as she turned the corner. She knew! She knew what was coming but stayed silent. Why?

“Which one was Francesca?” Coop asked.

“Hang on a minute,” Michael interrupted as he watched one of his agents approach. “Kirk told the interviewer he got a hold of the journal after the meetings and hid it in the woods. Tom’s bringing it over now.”

We watched in anticipation as the agent handed
Michael a light blue hardcover book with the word “Journal” printed on the front. Michael told Tom to find any information on Francesca Tracy he could, as soon as possible. My impatience growing, I grabbed the book from Michael’s hand and began flipping through the handwritten pages. There were only seven entries. Everyone stood quiet as I read the brief, but disturbing, accounts of Francesca Tracy’s time spent with the Children of Eden. It was the last entry, written the night of the murder, that made our blood run cold and our hair stand on end:

August 17

It’s been a while since I’ve written, but I haven’t been able to get my journal from its safe place in the woods. It seems like someone is always around me, Ken and Jake, especially. It was so bad two days ago, I would bet my life that Illeana is having me watched. I think the unrest in the group is making me paranoid. Tonight was a little calmer, but I sensed an unfamiliar tension as we all sat down to dinner.

Gary, Tyler, Jake, and Ken met with Illeana in her room. Probably to make the last of the arrangements for the wilderness retreat we are all taking tomorrow. The girls are so excited to go to West Virginia. I’ve never heard of Beckley, but it sounds nice. Little do they know we are not going.

I’ve made my decision and I’m taking the girls before everyone wakes tomorrow. I can’t possibly stomach another ceremony like tonight. If it wasn’t for Sarah and Molly, I’d probably kill myself. Not to mention, I’ll see Illeana burn before it’s all said and done. I’m planning on giving Gallagher everything I have on this place.

Illeana may not burn in hell with the almighty Jim Jones right now, but she’ll join him soon enough. He, for taking my parents, and her for taking my life and those of others. Our things have already been packed and loaded into the trucks. Right now, the children, including Molly and Sarah, are watching movies and bouncing around with excitement.

The rest of the members are in the field having prayer, except for Gary West, Tyler Briggs, and Jake Ellis; they’re out in the barn cutting wood. Quint went out to help a little bit ago. I can hear the sound of the chain saw all the way up here in this godforsaken room.

Knowing we are leaving this hell will make this night one of the longest of my life. I have to make this short. Connie just called up and said they needed my help in the barn. Till next time.

R—

I slowly closed the book, knowing what happened next. For Francesca, there wouldn’t be a next time.

“Jesus!” Coop voiced our thoughts. “They murdered her right after she wrote that, didn’t they, Michael?”

Michael took a deep breath. “You all better prepare yourselves. If what Kirk Richards is saying is true—and I believe it is—it’s one of the worst things I’ve heard in my life.”

The depth of Michael’s disgust showed on his face, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. He could take a lot, but this got to him. I was sure everything that happened in the last several weeks had something to do with it. I could tell Michael was as emotionally and physically drained as I was.

“Apparently, Francesca had been acting strange, so
Illeana put her husband and Jake on her tail for several weeks, something she clearly was aware of.” He nodded at the book. “The day of the murders, Jake followed her and saw her put her journal underneath a log and he took it. Of course, he took it right to Illeana. Kirk apparently heard the entire conversation. Illeana told Jake to put the journal back where he’d found it, and tell no one what he’d read—”

“I just thought of something,” I interrupted. “All of the journals are signed with the letter
R
at the end. Are we sure it’s Francesca?”

Michael thought for a minute. “According to Kirk it is, but we’ll get to that.”

Michael went on, painting an accurate and detailed picture of the murders. Coop, listening to the horror of it all, had to sit on the front step as he took it all in. Naomi stood as pale as the white porch post next to her while I felt my grip on the journal tightening.

“After the ceremony, Illeana held a meeting with Ken, Gary, Jake, and Tyler. It was during this meeting that the murder plan developed. It had been planned, initially, that the cult would move into the deep, desolate Appalachian Mountains near Beckley, West Virginia. Illeana had become increasingly irritated at the intrusion of local law enforcement. She wanted to pack up and disappear. However, after reading Francesca’s journal, she went into a complete and psychotic state of paranoia, afraid Francesca would endanger Eve’s ceremonious ‘coming.’

“Tyler Briggs stood watch outside the barn,” Michael continued, “while Ken, Gary, and Jake dug the hole. After they were done, they called Quint to the barn to help them with some last-minute preparations. Once Quint entered the barn, with Illeana behind him, Gary started up a chain saw to block the noise from the gunshot. Jake Ellis shot Quint in the head and threw him in the hole. And believe me when I tell you—Quint Tracy got it the easiest. Kirk Richards knew something was coming down. He watched the entire thing from outside through a slit in the barn wall.”

“What the fuck…” Coop murmured, shaking his head.

“After Quint, they called Francesca outside to the barn. This time, Jake and Gary held her while she screamed after seeing her husband. Kirk said he couldn’t hear everything because of the chain saw, but Illeana screamed at her as she was being held. He heard her tell Francesca that her children would be joining her soon and that’s when Francesca really lost it.” He paused, glaring at the barn. “It was Illeana who walked up and mercilessly shot Francesca right in the head.”

My stomach was churning and I felt ill. However, nothing prepared me for what happened to the children.

“After that, Ken went and got the ten-year-old and told her there was a surprise in the barn. When they got her in there they bound her hands and feet with duct tape and threw her in the hole alive…” Michael stopped, appearing to choke up.

“Man, I can’t listen to this shit,” Coop mumbled before standing up and walking away.

Michael watched him as he continued. I felt the bile begin to rise in my throat—along with a significant amount of tears in my eyes.

“They shot her when she was in the hole but, apparently, didn’t shoot her right—she was still screaming…” He paused. “They left her like that while they brought the six-year-old in. The first shot killed her, but it seems the ten-year-old was still alive when they buried them…”

“Oh fuck, enough!” Naomi was sobbing and put her hand up. “I don’t want to hear anymore…”

She ran toward Coop as I felt ill, dizzy, and hot. I grabbed the porch rail to sit down as I put my head between my legs, taking deep breaths to keep from vomiting. Like Naomi, I was sobbing. I looked around, amazed at the lack of emotional strength displayed by my fellow veteran police officers. We saw horrors all the
time—dead babies, children, wives beaten beyond recognition, and senseless car accidents—but this, this was something different. This particular crime reached into the emotional core of all of us. It was a frightening scene that alerted us to the fact we were still human beings.

“That fucking bitch!” I yelled. “So help me God, Michael, I’m going to get her…”

He knelt down next to me and gently rubbed my back while I got it together. I saw Coop near the woods’ edge, comforting Naomi. I knew this got to her, especially the guilt. I would never say another word to her again about calling me off the investigation. No one could have possibly predicted a nightmarish scenario like this one. It wasn’t her, nor the sheriff’s, fault—it was Illeana Barron’s. Given the state I was in, I was a little surprised when I thought of something.

“What about the body parts at the base of the mound?” I sniffed. “Did they belong to the family?”

Michael nodded. “I’m going to guess they were left as markers. They wanted us to find the bodies. It’s not surprising when you deal with someone as narcissistic as Illeana.”

As I sat, taking long breaths and holding Michael’s hand tight, I thought of the fear the family suffered. The old adage “the fear of death is worse than death itself” rang true in this incident. I truly believed that. I could only hope the family is in a better place, reunited. Regardless, my sensibilities took over again when I thought of Kirk Richards.

“Does Kirk Richards have any fucking type of explanation why he waited two hours before he called the police?” I barked. “Please tell me you’re going to charge him federally and throw his ass in jail. At the very least, he
knew they were stockpiling weapons—according to Francesca’s journal!”

“Just calm down, Cee. We’re still getting some more information and we don’t know where the cult is right now—he may be able to help us find them.” Michael stopped to answer his phone.

While I waited, I couldn’t help but think of Francesca’s last journal entry, where she spoke of the excited children, and the prospect of getting out. The thought alone sent a chill running through my body. Like I normally do in situations involving the murders of children, I felt a desperate need to run home and hug my own. The most terrifying aspect of it all was that the family in the barn could have been Kelly and Lola. I didn’t even want to go there. I had been through enough real scenarios; I didn’t need to start imagining more.

“You’ll have a hard time believing this,” Michael said, interrupting my thoughts as he closed his phone. “They found out who Francesca Tracy
really
was. This entire case is almost too much.”

“Spit it out, Michael.”

“Her real name was Rebecca Allen—there’s your
R
at the end of the journal pages. I noticed she referenced Jim Jones in one of the entries so I had the agency check it out. Rebecca is the sole surviving daughter of Jesse and Sharon Allen. Jesse was a radical preacher who moved his family to Jonestown, Guyana, when she was five. She was only six years old at the time of the mass suicide, and watched her mother and ten-year-old brother get gunned down by Jones’s maniac soldiers. She escaped and hid in the woods for two days before she was found.”

“This can’t be real. How did you find all of that out?” I was dumbfounded.

“The FBI kept files on the few remaining survivors of
Jonestown. Because of the brainwashing and psychological effects on the members, they had to ensure one of them didn’t start up where Jones left off. Rebecca’s statement was in her file and they lost track of her years ago—apparently when she changed her name.”

“She made it her life’s work to seek out deranged religious figures, like Illeana, and take them down—revenge for her family—didn’t she, Michael?”

“It would appear so. Only it wound up costing her her life along with those of her innocent children,” he surmised.

I found myself almost as angry at Rebecca Allen as I felt sympathy for her mere seconds ago. It was one thing to put herself at risk, but her children? She should have never brought them here in the first place, especially since she knew the risks. A survivor of Jonestown? My head spun. Michael was right; this case was becoming too much to absorb.

Naomi and Coop rejoined us shortly and we all spread out, helping with the search warrant. The four of us searched the main house first; everything was gone. The silver lawn chairs had been thrown in a pile behind the house in the woods, an attempt to burn them resulted in a pile of melted plastic that smelled something awful. The couch had also been burned, along with mattresses and a kitchenette set. My experience with sexual assaults kicked in and I worried the mattresses were burned to cover up any evidence of rape or child abuse. I washed the thought away quickly when I remembered they were guilty of murder. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t give two shits worrying about rape charges. The eerie symbol on the floor remained, along with the haunting series of numbers on the wall, screaming out at us for the last time.

In the room off the foyer—the one that Illeana had been in when I discovered the prayer room—lay a single
thorny rose. As the setting sun cast a foreboding, dismal light into the room, I walked in and picked up the rose. This time, the thorns failed to poke me, and I knew unequivocally that Illeana had left the rose for me—she was sending a message. In my mind, the message was that she had won our tempestuous battle. Looking out the window, across the grounds to the barn, I let out a grieving, low sigh. I had failed.

“It’s not your fault, Cee,” Michael whispered from behind me.

I hadn’t even heard him come into the room. He gently put his arms around my waist and rested his chin on the top of my head, looking out at the barn with me.

“Those children,” I said quietly, feeling the tears burn my eyes again. “There are so many, and she has them all. We have to find her, Michael.”

“We will, don’t worry.”

We embraced for several minutes before Coop poked his head into the doorway.

“Michael? Oh, sorry, guys.” He looked embarrassed to have interrupted such an intimate moment. “Um, I just wanted to tell you those freaky white tents are still standing at the river. Should we tear them down?”

“No, not yet. Everything has to be photographed and processed.” Michael let go of me. “They should be done in a couple of days, but just leave it for now.”

Coop nodded and left.

“C’mon.” Michael grabbed my hand. “We still have some searching to do.”

It proved fruitless; the cult was gone. We found where they were storing their weapons: a makeshift storm cellar at the edge of the woods. It had been covered with brush, leaves, and logs, which had made it impossible to find before. However, the wooden trapdoor now stood
wide-open, like the house, inviting all of us to enter and see what we missed earlier. I swear I could hear Illeana laughing at us.

With the shelves that lined the small cellar walls, it was apparent they had a pretty impressive arsenal with them. They had enough firepower to hold off law enforcement for days. And that was an extremely disturbing thought. Michael clearly felt the same. Without speaking a word, I knew he was battling his own guilt for not tackling the initial complaint about the group stockpiling weapons more seriously. I thought it best not to bring it up. Standing above the cellar door, he looked at his two agents with unreserved concern.

“Put out a nationwide security alert. We need to find these people—now.”