Sins of the Father - 1. Chapter 1

Sins of the Father

Cold wind chapped Detective Jon Miller’s face, as his eyes darted around the cemetery, stopping to study some of those in attendance at the funeral. He noticed a police woman yards behind the crowd of black clad mourners, nonchalantly leaning against a monument, looking disinterested in the whole scene, but Jon knew that Office Kate Tindell wasn’t missing one thing that was going on around her. Glancing back into the crowd, hearing the low murmur of Rev. Joseph Parker’s voice, as he spoke over the beautiful casket, laden with red carnations and white roses, Jon wondered if the Reverend meant a word he was saying.

The gay young man in the casket, Dal Bancroft, was the sixth victim in the last six months of what his department at work had labeled "The Gay Slasher". Jon watched the stoic faces of the dead young man’s parents as they pretended to mourn the son that they’d banished from their home when Dal told them he was gay over four years ago.

***

Dal was one of the first friends Jon had made when he’d transferred to Chicago, to get out of Green Briar, MS, an ant bed of homophobes. No one had known Jon was gay, and only a couple of people in his department here in Chicago knew, one being his boss, Bill Poe. The other was Dal, who had just graduated the Police Academy.

When the eighteen-year- old had been booted out of his home, Jon had helped him find an apartment close to the Junior College Dal wanted to attend at the time, and Dal had never forgotten Jon’s kindness. The two men had become close, and about a year ago, Jon had admitted to Dal that he was gay. It brought the two that much more closer, but their age difference of ten years, and Jon’s refusal to come out of the closet had kept their relationship platonic.

***

The service began to break up when Jon noticed the young man in the long leather coat, familiar black Harley boots, with his neck wrapped in a dark gray scarf to hide the jagged scars and to keep the cold at bay. Neal Wilhite had been the slasher’s second victim, and the only one to survive the killer. He’d suffered jagged edged cuts to his neck and arms. His size was what saved him. Although he’d had over three hundred stitches and reconstructive surgery to the side of his neck, he hadn’t let the killer make him live in fear. Jon was just surprised to see him at Dal’s funeral. Neal and Dal hadn’t gotten along since Neal’s boyfriend, Marsh had starting dating Dal after Neal was attacked because of the scars on his body. Jon thought the huge bear of a man was even hotter with the scars.

Waiting for the majority of the mourners to disperse, Jon walked toward Neal, and when Neal noticed him coming his way, he waited expectantly, undaunted by the detective. Holding out his hand, as he stood in front of Neal, Jon looked the big man straight into his eyes, seeing a hardness there that hadn't been there before the attack. Neal took his hand, and then quickly dropped it, as if he was annoyed by the formality.

"Dreary day for the service huh?" Jon watched Neal for any sign of uneasiness.

"Funerals are always dreary, even if the sun is shining. Not my thing, but I felt I should be here. Guess deep down, I was hoping the son of a bitch that did this would decide to show up, and you all would spot him. I want my chance at him." Neal spoke adamantly, with a harsh sincerity.

Jon spoke before he thought, and regretted it as soon as he said the words. "I thought Marsh would show for the funeral. I can’t imagine how he feels, two boyfriends being attacked by the same killer."

"Have you lost your mind? That chicken shit is probably in the bar, already looking for a hook-up so he doesn’t have to spend the night alone. Dal was too good for him, and so was I. It just took me a little while to realize it. He called me several times when he was with Dal, but Dal was a good guy, and I had no reason to hurt him, so I didn’t tell him about it. I figured Marsh would show his true colors sooner or later anyway." Neal seemed to mean every word he said.

The two men started walking as they talked. They stopped at the small hill, leading down to their vehicles, neither wanting to say good bye. It was as if Neal knew that he and Jon were kindred spirits.

"This was my last hour of duty today, attending the service. Do you want to go have a drink down at Rosie's and talk some more?" Jon waited patiently, not sure how his invitation would be taken.

"Aren’t you scared to be seen with a gay man, with all that’s going on? The slasher is still out there, and people may think you are gay." Neal acted concerned for Jon’s safety, even if Jon was a cop.

"I’ll be fine. I’ll follow you in a few minutes. I’m going to check on my officer in the background and see if she noticed anything."

Jon watched Neal walk to his car, and turned to see Kate headed toward him, a scowl on her face.

"Who pissed you off?"

Kate scowled and said, "Reverend Parker’s son gives me the creeps. He asked me a million questions, and has to touch me when he talks. Gross!"

Jon chuckled, and said, "If that twenty- year= old perv is all we have to worry about, then our day is done."

"Why do you call him a perv? He’s a preacher’s son."

Jon lowered his voice and said, "Remember the Peeping Tom over on Lantern Street a few months back? It was him. The Chief just told us to let him go, and called the Reverend, and bent his ear. The little shit told the officers he was looking for his cat. I guess his cat was in the tub with Mrs. Burton."

Shaking her head, Kate walked toward her patrol car, got in and shut the door. Rolling her window down, she asked, "Up for a drink? I’m going to change and then go meet some of the guys down at Gus’s."

"Sorry, I’ve got plans. See you Monday though. You have the weekend off too, don’t you?"

"Wouldn’t be going to Gus’s with the guys if I didn’t. You know how that goes." She waved as she drove away.

***

Reverend Parker drove to the rectory, slammed the door of his Impala, and hurried inside in search of his son, Thomas. He found him leaning against the kitchen cabinets, drinking a glass of milk, and eating Oreos, still wearing the suit he’d worn to the funeral.

"Go change out of those clothes, and meet me downstairs in five minutes."

"Father, I’m eating," he whined. He brushed the crumbs from his suit coat, and hurried to his room, knowing what would happen if he kept his father waiting.

The Reverend was sitting at his old desk, a notebook open in front of him, writing feverishly, like a mad man. When he had finished writing, he tore the paper from the notebook, and handed it to Thomas. "Tomorrow night."

Thomas looked at the paper in his hand, and his eyes glazed over in sickly glee. "Ah, a sweet fleshed sixteen- year- old. He’s been sucking off half the football team. They’ll miss his sweet little ass."

The Reverend slapped Thomas so hard that it spun Thomas’s head to the side. "You’ll burn in hell for saying and thinking such things. I’ve told you about the sins of the flesh between two of the same sex. Just go take care of this one. He’s an abomination. I heard the whispers about him during the service today. I can’t have my words of God being ignored for the talk of fags."

"But Father, it’s only been a little over a week since I killed Dal. We usually wait a month or more. Why so soon?" Thomas was scared his father was slowly going mad.

The Reverend laughed softly and said. "I decided we’d use the element of surprise. That smartass Detective Jon Miller thinks he can save these sinful humans. I’m going to show that doing my Christian duty can’t be stopped. Now, go get prepared. The address is on the paper. He lives alone with his father, who works nights. Camden Smith should be an easy mark. His blood will be the blanket he wears for his ascent into hell."

***

Jon sat across the table from Neal, both men drinking a bourbon and water, shelling and eating peanuts from the small aluminum bucket that sat in the center of their table.

"So, am I allowed to ask if you have any leads on the slasher, or is that classified?" Neal lowered his voice as he spoke to Jon.

Jon took a sip of his drink before replying. "We have a couple of leads, but nothing in my opinion that has any merit at this point. The killer is someone that lives in this area. I’m certain of that. Many think he committed the murder last month, in the next city over, but I don’t. I think that was just another idiot trying to steal the limelight. Killers have a mind of their own, and as we both know, they thrive on the hunt, and then the kill. You even said you thought you’d been followed home from the gym a couple of nights before you were attacked. I just have to figure out who knows so much about the people in this suburb of Chicago. My gut feeling is that the person doing this knows a lot of the townspeople, and a lot about their personal lives."

"I heard that that you all were thinking about putting an officer out there, acting as a gay person, or however that’s done." Neal waited for Jon’s reply.

Not thinking of what he was fixing to reveal, Jon answered honestly. "I tried to get the boss to put me out there, but he’s scared that someone might actually know that I’m really…" Jon stopped, trying to think of a way to cover his mistake, but came up blank. He felt his face redden as he glanced across the table at Neal.

"Relax; you’ve nothing to fear from me, Jon. I’d suspected for awhile now, just watching you. Also, when you visited me in the hospital, while I was still sedated, I know that you spent a couple of nights in my room. I found that a bit strange since an office stood guard outside my door the whole time I stayed there. You even held my hand a couple of times, and whispered that you would get that sick homophobic son of a bitch if it was the last thing you did." Neal watched Jon’s face as he spoke.

"You could hear all of that?"

Neal chuckled softly. "I was sedated for pain and couldn’t talk. There was nothing wrong with my other senses, like touch and hearing. You even told me about your first kiss with another guy. If I could’ve laughed at the time, I would have. Bu, the staples and stitches I had in me prevented me from doing anything but trying to squeeze your hand a couple of times to let you know I heard you."

"I thought I imagined you squeezing my hand that night. I told myself that I was just tired. Why didn’t you tell me before now that you knew, Neal? I don’t understand." Jon looked expectantly at the other man, waiting for an answer.

"Like your boss said, I didn’t want you in harms way. Keeping it to myself made me feel like maybe I was the only one that knew, and if that were the case, I could protect you."

Jon’s mouth fell open at the other man’s words. No one had ever said they’d protect him. Before he thought, Jon reached across the table, and squeezed Neal’s hand in thanks, and smiled when Neel said nothing but squeezed his back and then drug his hand away before anyone noticed.

Clearing his throat, Jon said, "Want another? I don’t have work tomorrow."

"One more, and I’ve gotta get out of here. I do have a shift at the gym in the morning." Neal smiled as he said it.

***

Thomas hurriedly pulled on the black turtleneck and arranged the top of his black jeans over the black military boots he wore. After the talk with his father, he decided to do the deed tonight, and surprise everyone. Knowing that young hot flesh was his for the taking, he pulled on his jacket, feeling the cold steel of the dull, jagged edged knife in the right pocket. The squeal of pain from his victims when he drug the dull, uneven blade through their skin and cartilage made him quiver with desire and pride for pleasing his father, although he was one of the ones his father hated most. But, by spilling the blood of other sinners, he felt his father would forgive him for being one of them.

***

Camden Smith finished doing the dishes from his meal, and then headed upstairs to watch porn. His father wouldn’t be home for hours, and it was Friday night. Sliding his jeans off, he settled down onto his bed, rubbing the tent in his boxers, as the screen of his laptop booted up. He started stroking his member when the two males appeared on the screen, stroking each other off. The sound of their harsh breathing mixed with the noise of his own, drowning out the quiet footsteps on the staircase.

Thomas grinned, feeling himself harden when he heard the heaving breathing coming through the open door of the bedroom. This was going to be too easy. Unable to help himself, he peered through the crack between the door and its facing, watching the beautiful young boy, work himself vigorousl, as he watched the porn on his computer. Silently unzipping his jeans, Thomas pulled out his hard shaft, and stroked in time with the boy, pleasure radiating from his body, from the sight in front of him. Hearing Camden’s breathing escalate, Thomas knew the boy was fixing to get off, and stroked his own shaft faster, feeling his balls tighten in readiness. When white ropes of cum started shooting over the top of Camden’s stroking hand, spurts of cum started hitting the door facing, as Thomas held himself rigid to keep from moaning aloud.

Thomas zipped his pants, uncaring of the mess, hurriedly rounded the door, and grabbed Camden by his hair before the boy had time to react; he was so relaxed from his sexual release. The fear in Camden’s eyes enhanced Thomas’s delight at what he’d just witnessed, and what he was fixing to do. Thomas brought the knife to one side of Camden’s neck, tearing flesh and cartilage, as he drug it around to the other side, the gurgles from Camden making him laugh in horrific glee. Dropping Camden’s body back onto the pillows the boy had been reclining on, he noticed the limp member still peaking from the slit in the cum stained boxers. Thomas ran his thumb over the head, wiped the white semen onto the bloodied knife, and brought the knife to his waiting mouth. The taste of the blood and seed from the young boy was almost Thomas’s undoing. He moaned in pleasure when he felt the slickness of the cum on his tongue, laughing sickly as he thought of his father’s ignorance. He slid the knife back into his jacket pocket, and with one last glance at the penis between his victim’s legs, he exited as softly as he had come..

***

Jon woke the next morning, thoughts of the night before bringing a smile to his face. He knew he had nothing to fear from Neal knowing his secret. Remembering the way Neal had looked around the dark parking lot before pulling Jon in for a quick peck on the lips the night before causing Jon’s whole body to tingle. The two men had tentatively made plans to meet for a movie that evening. Jon was brought from his thoughts by the beeping of his phone..

Bill Poe’s voice was all business. "I know it’s your weekend off, but I thought you might want to know that Jackie Smith found his sixteen- year -old son, Camden, dead in his bed this morning. His throat had been slashed, just like the other victims, same weapon. There was just one difference, dried semen on the victim’s body. Forensics is there now. They’ll take DNA samples. I’m on my way if you want to meet me, Jon."

"I’m there. Just give me a minute to throw on clothes, Boss." Jon was sick, thinking of the latest victim. He’d heard rumors of Camden and the football team, but he’d also heard the quarterback was gay, and was using the rumors to keep anyone from finding out that he and Camden were in a relationship. Jon made a note to look up Mike Parker’s address, and pay the quarterback a visit as soon as he left the Smith’s residence.

As he backed out of his driveway, Jon tapped the number that Neal had programmed into his phone last night, and waited for Neal to answer.

"Wow, it’s six a.m. You already miss me?" Neal sounded like a playful teenager, instead of the tough looking grizzly he reminded Jon of.

Jon smiled, but spoke quickly, and precisely into the phone. "There’s been another murder. I’ll try to touch base with you late, big guy. Be safe."

"No, Jon. You be safe, and let me know that you are ok. Don’t leave me hanging here." Neal clicked his phone off before Jon could reply.

The trip didn’t take but a little over a quarter of an hour. Patrol cars stood in front of the house, blue lights spinning, and Jon recognized Bill Poe’s dark sedan parked right in front of the small brick home. A body on a gurney was being pushed out of the house, and Jon watched as they loaded it into the back of an ambulance, an older man following behind, crying in earnest. Jon hated these scenes. It never got any easier.

"Helluva mess, Jon. The kid was in bed, porn playing on his computer, and cum stains all over his torso and boxers. The father is devastated and embarrassed. I assured him that the news people would know nothing about the scene of the crime, just the crime itself. Poor guy is all alone in the world now. Plain tragic. We’re going to get this son of a bitch if it’s the last thing we do." Bill Poe’s calm tone told Jon that he meant every word he said.

"Detectives; I think you might want to see this." Bill and Jon turned to see the head of the forensic team motioning them into the house.

"Well, "l'll be damned. The son of a bitch finally got careless and screwed up. Get this to the lab and let me know something immediately if you find a match. I’ll be at the station." Bill Poe told Jon to follow him down to headquarters.

***

Thomas woke to find his father standing over him, holding his cum stained black pants, his eyes glowing like the embers of hell. "Downstairs now, you sinner!" The Reverend turned and left the room.

Trembling as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee, Thomas thought of the cum stained pants his father held. He reached between his mattresses and got his pistol, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling his shirt down over it. Slipping his feet into a pair of fur lined crocks, he walked slowly down the stairs, not knowing what awaited him.

"You’re one of them. You, my own blood, betrayed me, your father and Man of God! You’ll take your punishment like a man, and not like the fag you are." The Reverend was mad with the knowledge he’d stumbled upon about his son.

Thomas winced when he saw the board with nails protruding from it. His father held up the bloodied knife in his other hand and said, "You deserve to be slaughtered just like the others, but I want to watch you suffer for what you have done. No son of mine will mix body fluids with another man! I’ll castrate you first!" The Reverend was screaming then.

Thomas grabbed the pistol from his back pocket and fired, the bullet striking his father in the chest. The madman kept coming toward him, the knife in one hand, and board full of nails in the other. Another shot rang throughout the basement, and Thomas smirked when his father crumpled, still holding the weapon that had killed so many. Thomas walked slowly up the stairs and dialed 911. "I’d like to report a murder. I think I just killed my father. He was trying to cut my throat." Thomas sobbed into the phone as he spoke, the fear in his voice, convincing the voice on the other end that all was truth.

Closing his phone, Thomas trudged down the stairs, retrieved his pants, and threw them into the laundry his father had been about to start, added soap, and turned on the machine, and then went to letin the officers that were banging on the front door.

***

Jon and Bill Poe looked at the DNA results, both stunned. "Who knew the little creep had it in him?" Jon spoke, thinking of Neal, and wondering how Thomas had fought Neal off when he’d attacked Neal.

The two men looked up when a dispatcher came in from the front office."There’s been a 911 call from Reverend Campbell’s house. His son, Thomas called it in. Seems there’s been a murder." The dispatcher looked at both Jon and Bill. "A couple of units have already been dispatched."

The dispatcher didn’t finish speaking before Jon and Bill ran out the door of the precinct. The scene that greeted them at the Rectory was one they would never forget.

Thomas Campbell stood on the front steps of the Rectory, screaming in anguish, bend over, holding his sides. One of the Deacon’s wives was trying to calm him.

The officers at the door cleared the way for Jon and Bill to enter, leading them downstairs to the basement. What they saw there looked like something out of a bloody crime scene in a movie. The Reverend was lying face down on the floor, one hand gripping the knife, and a board with nails embedded into his other arm, like he’d been holding it in his other hand, and it turned as he fell forward. Blood ran from beneath his chest, and the bullet hole in his head.

"Like father, like son it seems. Same DNA, but wrong man. Seems the Reverend hated gays himself, not his son." As Jon spoke, he noticed the spiral notebook laying open on the desk. Taking his handkerchief from his pocked, he turned the pages, seeing the dates and names of the Slasher’s victims in the last six months. The last victim was dated for today, Halloween, but the Reverend had killed Camden last night.

"Let’s get this scene cleaned up, and round up a new crew to let them know we’ve identified the son of a bitch. I don’t think even God will have any mercy for this one." Bill Poe motioned for Jon to follow him from the house as the officers and medics started disposing of the mess in the basement.

"What about the boy? We need to question him." Jon spoke as they got into Bill’s car.

Bill thought for a moment and said. "You and I’ll do the interrogation. The kids obviously has been through enough. I told Sims and Coleman to bring him in after he was released from the hospital."

***

Thomas Campbell spilled the whole story to Jon and Bill two days later. Thomas suspected his father, but was scared of the Reverend, since Thomas himself was gay.

"Why did your father attack you Thomas?" Bill and Jon waited patiently for the boy to answer Jon’s question.

Thomas looked down at the table, twirling an empty coke can in his hands. "He found some gay porn in my book shelf that I’d hidden behind some other books. Then, he called me to the basement and told me he wouldn’t have a faggot as a son, even if it meant castrating me. When he started to attack me, I ran around his desk, got his gun he kept there, and shot to keep him from stabbing me or hitting me in the head with the nail filled board. After I shot the first time, he screamed and kept coming for me. That’s when I had to kill my own father." Thomas broke down in sobs, laying his head in his hands.

***

Jon and Neal sat in Neal’s kitchen, having a drink while the grill was getting ready outback. It had been three weeks since the Reverend had died, and Thomas had left town a week or so ago, loading up his own possessions, cleaning out his father’s bank account, and leaving a forwarding address, across the city. "What do you think will become of Thomas?"

Jon looked at Neal, surprised by the question. "I hadn’t really thought about it. He’s twenty- one. I’m sure he has relatives, or since he was an only child, the Reverend’s insurance money will keep him comfortable for quite awhile. Why would you ask?"

Shrugging, Neal said, "I’ve just felt a little out of sorts lately. Last week, when I left your house, I saw a motorcycle parked across the street, about a block up. The rider stood leaning against it, black shaded helmet, dressed in black leather, but his stance seemed somewhat familiar. When I gave it some thought, the rider reminded me of Thomas."

"Why haven’t you said something? I’d have it checked out. But, I don’t think the kid would come back here; too many memories."

Neal was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Let’s spend Christmas together. We’ll take the week, and go to the mountains."

Surprised by the abrupt change of subject, and spur of the moment suggestion, Jon could only nod in agreement, grinning from ear to ear. He leaned across the bar and kissed Neal softly.

The two sat in silence, both reflecting on the last couple of weeks. They’d grown close, seeing each other everyday. Jon was out to most of the Department, and all of their mutual friends that they’d seen since hanging together.

"Get the steaks, and I’ll freshen our drinks. The fire pit is already lit. It looks like snow and I don’t relish cooking in the snow." Jon chuckled as he spoke, knowing he’d stand in a blizzard if Neal was with them. The last few weeks had started a whole new life for him, and it was all because of Neal.

A couple of hours later, the two men sat on the couch, drowsy from the meal. Music played in the background as they stared out the window running along the front of the house. Snow fell in huge flakes. Neal lounged with his back against the end of the couch, and Jon reclined with his back against Neal’s chest, Neal’s fingers softly rubbing Jon’s side through his sweatshirt.

"Spend the night, and just cuddle?" Jon whispered hurriedly as if he had to get it out before he chickened out.

Neal laughed softly before answering. "I’d love to spend the night and cuddle. You’re not going to hesitate to ask me anything like that again. I told you we’d take things slow. I know you’ve been with very few men. When you get ready, I have a feeling it’ll be the last man for both of us."

Jon grabbed Neal’s hand, pulled him up from the couch, and led him to his bedroom, turning off lights as they went. "There’s an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. I’ll go get us a bottle of water while you get ready for bed."

Neal hurriedly brushed his teeth and splashed his face with soap and water. He was stripping off his shirt when he heard a loud bump, like something hitting the wall. He ran out the bedroom door, running headlong into Jon. Neal grabbed the other man, hugging him tightly. "Are you ok? I heard something and..."

"Whoa, baby. I’m fine. Calm down." Jon set the two bottle of water on the bedside table, and then pulled Neal down onto the bed beside him. "Look at me. Quit worrying. I’m going to be ok. The Slasher is dead. We’re going to be ok." Kissing the other man softly, Jon pushed Neal back onto the bed, and took their relationship to the next level, never faltering in his ministrations.

***

Four weeks later

Jon and Neal sat across from each other in the small coffee shop about a mile from Neal’s gym.

"Three more days, we head to the mountains, and seven days of just the two of us." Neal’s excitement was contagious, and Jon smiled, grabbing one of Neal’s hands and bringing it to his mouth for a loud wet smack.

Neal jerked his hand away in mock surprise and said, "No kisses until the third date."

"But honey, you stay at my house at least four nights a week. Doesn’t that count as a date?" Jon gave a soft giggle, going along with the game.

Neither man noticed Thomas sitting two tables behind him with his face buried in a paper, faking absorption in the news.

"What’s the name of the cabin in the mountains? Isn’t it close to Weir Valley?" Neal was so excited that Jon laughed again.

"Yes, knothead, it’s called Bear Hugs. It’s almost to the top of the mountain."

Pretending to do the crossword puzzle in the paper in front of him, Thomas carefully took notes, making sure the two men were completely out of sight of the small coffee shop before he took his own leave, whistling under his breath. Pulling his scarf a little tighter around his neck, he ran his fingers lightly down the blade of the knife in the pocket of his jacket. He got into his black jeep, and headed to the nearest garage to get snow chains. It was going to be a long trek up the mountain, and he needed to be prepared.